


Out Cold

by Crimson1



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom!Barry, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Temporary Amnesia, bottom!len, team arrow is only in the epilogue, wending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 200,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Cold's plan for a bit of fun with his nemesis results in more than he bargained for when a head wound from dashing to Flash's rescue leaves him without any memories of who he or The Flash is. As Barry nurses Len back to health, both of them quickly start to hope that he never remembers being Captain Cold as the attraction they feel for each other turns into something more without the pitfalls of being enemies to stand in their way.</p><p>AU with everything having happened up to the Season 1 finale, except Eddie shot Eobard instead of himself, killing him, and the singularity didn’t happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU with everything having happened up to the finale, except Eddie shot Thawne instead of himself, killing him, and the singularity didn’t happen. 
> 
> I've been dying to get into this fandom, and to be here on the ground floor of something so new and exciting is always a thrill. We have all summer to get creative, and once Legends of Tomorrow happens...well, it can only get better from here, folks. 
> 
> I have over 10 chapters planned, so stay tuned for much more, and yes, it will get sexy.

Len sat alone in the cramped if somewhat cozy safe house, tapping his foot on the rung of his stool as he stared at his cold gun lying on the table in front of him. He’d been itching for a new challenge, a heist, an excuse for The Flash to try and thwart his dastardly plans again ever since he double-crossed the speedster. 

The metas he’d let loose would no doubt be useful whenever he next needed them—they owed him for their release, after all—but he wanted something smaller to start. Something to remind The Flash of who Captain Cold was and where they stood, but nothing too over-reaching. A crescendo wasn’t any fun if you started at the top; he wanted to build their business relationship toward a worthwhile climax—earned, over time.

A bank job was always fun. Classic. Too easy, occasionally, but Central City had a few creative vaults that made for an interesting challenge, and he’d had his eye on 1st National on Grand Avenue for months.

“I know that look,” came Lisa’s voice from the doorway. She crossed behind him to the kitchen at the far end of the room, carrying groceries. 

Len liked how domestic working with his sister made his otherwise all-business lifestyle. He didn’t take care of himself enough, she often chided him; she was always good for groceries and other utilitarian supplies, though he was usually the one who cooked and cleaned. Mick was also often good for a meal. He was a surprisingly talented cook, the one heat-related skill he performed that had yet to end in a fire, which had been a great relief to Lisa the first time she witnessed it. She’d complained to Len that they were about to lose another safe house until the moment dinner turned up on the table unsinged. 

“What look is that?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on his gun.

“The man with a plan look. What are we hitting?” She continued putting away the groceries until everything but some essentials he assumed were for lunch remained on the counter. 

From his worktable, Len could see the entirety of the open kitchen plan, the smaller table for eating near the wall, a sofa and simple entertainment setup on the other side of the room, a bathroom near the back—nothing too extravagant. He’d renovated the main office of an old warehouse for this hideout, so that anyone coming to investigate would get bored with all the empty rundown areas of the rest of the building before they thought to check as far back as where Len actually stayed. They had other similar safe houses all over the city, and a few more normal apartments, though those were riskier. 

“1st National has been looking a little too secure lately. Perhaps we should knock them down a peg, raid the safe deposit boxes.”

“I thought the tellers there were trained to be trigger happy about tripping the alarm.”

“They are." Len smirked. He glanced up from his gun finally to see Lisa moving toward him, arms crossed. Her lips were pursed, but her eyes danced with amusement. 

“Why do you get to play with your obsession whenever the mood strikes, and I’m not allowed to play with mine?” she demanded.

Len stared her down without flinching. “Are you admitting to obsessing over The Flash’s little genius assistant?”

“Are you admitting to obsessing over The Flash?” she shot back.

Len bristled internally but kept his expression neutral. “He’s a worthy opponent. He makes things…interesting. You know I don’t do this for the pretty trinkets or cash, Lisa, I’m interested in something greater.”

“The challenge, the next big score,” she rattled off as if tired of the usual suspects of Len’s monologues. “And are you sure this is only about The Flash being a challenge, Lenny, or are your interests a little more wrapped up in the kid himself than you’re willing to admit?"

Len took a breath to counter her argument, but she pushed on.

“And before you snipe at me, yes. I am a little obsessed with Cisco,” she said curtly, then allowed her lips to relax into a satisfied smile. “He’s cute, smart, sneaks glances at my face more than my ass. It’s nice. Gentlemen are hard to come by in this business.”

“He’s not in this business.”

“Exactly.”

Len sighed. “I’m not allowed to be wary of men you’re interested in?”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, but then I get to do the same for you. You need to get out more, Lenny.” She finished her trek to the tall table and rested her arms next to his cold gun, leaning forward in a way that made most men quiver, but that had the effect in Len of recalling a ten-year-old with pigtails who followed him everywhere. 

He was allowed to be protective, damn it. 

“I know what I’m getting into—or not getting into—if I try and seduce dear sweet Cisco. What about you? Do you really want to keep playing this game with The Flash when your cold little heart melts every time you see him? You need some normal relationships in your life, Lenny. Mick doesn’t count. I definitely don’t. Who’s the last person you even dated?”

The laundry list of exes for Leonard Snart was just that—a laundry list; short and filled with mundane, distasteful men he would have been better off without. Lisa had already summed it up—gentlemen were hard to come by in this business 

“I’m not interested in dating The Flash,” he said pointedly, “I’m just having a little fun at his expense.” The fact that his often red leather-clad form housed a tall, gangly, though also very well-muscled and adorable young man who couldn’t pull off looking serious no matter how hard he pouted his lips and glared with those warm doe eyes, was beside the point. 

He doubted Barry Allen was the type who would ever entertain letting off steam in some back alley after one of their rendezvouses, but the possibility had fueled a few winning fantasies for Len late at night. He wasn’t about to admit that to Lisa though, much as she’d probably already guessed.

“It’s just a job,” he insisted.

Lisa lifted a hand to rest her chin on it, batting her eyelashes at him skeptically. “Sure, Lenny, whatever you say, but if I scope out Cisco’s after hour hangouts, I don’t want to hear a word.”

Len glared. He would not agree to that, not until he’d had the chance to vet the kid himself. Gentleman, maybe, but no one got off easy when it came to dating his sister.

XXXXX

So far everything was going exactly as planned. A clerk had hit the silent alarm, with plenty of time for Lisa to bag the good stuff, while Len waited for an appearance of his favorite scarlet speedster. And The Flash didn’t disappoint. They were moments from being ready to hit the exit, when Len felt the wind knocked from him, that exhilarating stomach lurch like starting down from the peak of a rollercoaster, and when he caught his breath, he was no longer in the bank. 

The Flash had whisked him off to some secluded warehouse—maybe even one Len had another safe house in—leaving Lisa to finish the job unimpeded, and Len a moment alone with his quarry. It was so very pleasing how predictable The Flash could be, focusing on Len rather than looking for accomplices before he zipped him away from the scene.

Or maybe he was just that pissed. The fire in The Flash’s eyes was hypnotic as Len’s vision refocused on his new surroundings, left to teeter mere feet in front of his nemesis.

“I must leave a lasting impression for you to keep wanting me all to yourself,” he said, cold gun still firmly in his grasp—he’d learned from past mistakes and had it attached by a cord to his wrist cuff, which he’d insisted to Lisa wasn’t anything like how children connected mittens to jackets in the winter. The fact that he wore a parka and goggles in no way made that reference valid.

But Flash clenched his fists. His youthful face was filled with fury Len wasn’t used to. Had he encountered Bivolo again? But no, it couldn’t be the Rainbow Raider, though Len had a suspicion that Flash’s rage had something to do with the meta anyway. 

“You really should have waited to show your face again until after I’d had time to cool off from your stunt, Snart,” Flash bit out. 

Yep, his recent betrayal had definitely rubbed The Flash the wrong way. Len tried not to shift too nervously in the face of the kid looking so heated and on edge. It was unfairly sexy.

“Did you think I’d take some vacation time instead?” he said. “I’m a businessman, Scarlet, I have quotas to keep.”

A brief spark of yellow lightning was Len’s only warning that The Flash was about to charge rather than banter back, so he fired his gun without aiming. He landed on his ass a moment later from the force of Flash hitting him, but he'd still gotten a shot off. He scrambled to his feet to see that he’d almost struck home too. The Flash was busy holding his side where the cold gun had grazed him enough to at least slow him down. 

“You push me to my limits, Flash. That’s good,” Len said as he steadied his footing and his aim. “It forces me to be on my toes, predict what you’ll do. You’ll find I’m not as easy to sneak up on anymore.” He fired a warning shot around The Flash, purposely missing and hitting a section of crumbling wall behind him instead. 

The Flash darted to the side and Len followed with his gun. It was almost too easy, since The Flash was slowed as he shook off the burning cold along his side. But, as he moved, he seemed to heal already, the friction of even his lesser super speed enough to melt the ice clinging to his suit. 

Len was careful to always aim just a hair too shy or too much ahead of where The Flash would run to, though it meant the building was fairly well iced by the time the sluggish speedster stopped for breath. He still held a hand to his side, but Len could tell he wasn’t nearly as debilitated as he was feigning. 

“The first time someone ends up dead because of one of those metas, it’s on you,” The Flash snarled.

“I think you’re forgetting the pilots of the plane they crashed,” Len reminded him.

The Flash howled and charged him again. Len tried something he’d been wanting to do for some time, and simply dropped to his knees, which stung but surprised the blur of The Flash enough that he toppled over Len and rolled into the wall behind him. 

Len shot back up to his feet and spun around, firing his gun at the walkway positioned above The Flash’s head. It teetered and creaked, but didn’t fall, just as Len wanted. Shots from his cold gun were one thing—The Flash had healed from that before. But Len only wanted to let The Flash know what he was up against; he didn’t want to actually injure his opponent. That would spoil the fun. 

“Are you really so upset that I turned on you, or just mad at yourself for being foolish enough to trust me in the first place?” Len asked, sauntering closer to where The Flash was sprawled. He knew the speedster would be up in moments, his side thawed now, with no true sign of pain on his face, just a look of biding his time until he could get one over on Len. 

“Don’t think I’ll make the same mistake again,” Flash said, his voice rumbling unfamiliarly. It made Len shiver within the hidden confines of his parka. 

“That’s a shame, Barry,” he said, purposely using his foe’s real name as he crouched down close enough that he could reach out and touch his opponent if he chose. “I kind of enjoyed playing nice. Maybe next time you can get the drop on me instead. It could be fun.”

“Even if I did agree to work with you again, I’d never betray you like that,” The Flash said with venom on his tongue. “I am nothing like you, Snart.”

That was part of what Len loved about him. He smirked, even though something a little colder than usual settled in his gut. “No, you really—”

The walkway above creaked loudly and Len looked up. The ice had broken down the integrity of the metal too much. It was falling. If it fell, the jagged edges would crush Barry, maybe worse. He rose and backpedaled. 

“Better move out of the way, Scarlet,” he said, struggling not to be too obvious with his concern.

Slowly—and oh how agonizing it was when The Flash moved slow on purpose—the speedster stood, but he didn’t move from his spot. “You think I’d fall for that?”

“Flash, it isn’t a trick, you—”

“Weren’t you just telling me how naïve I was for trusting you before?"

"Do you want to be crushed?" Len kept himself from darting forward but the walkway was teetering precariously and could snap and fall at any moment. If The Flash just looked up and saw the danger, he could move out of the way in seconds.

Never cry wolf, flashed in Len's head, but he wasn't about to admit a mistake. He did everything with purpose; there wasn't room for regrets.

"You kept insisting,” The Flash said, disappointment and thicker emotion coating his anger now. “Made yourself sound so sincere. We had the same goals. Why would you betray us? But that's just the thing. You probably don't even know how to be honest with someone anymore."

"I'm being honest with you now! Look up!" 

It was falling; it was going to fall, but the creaking was so consistent that The Flash refused to believe it meant anything serious. He was going to get hurt just because he wouldn't listen to Len and run like he was built to!

"Flash!"

"Half of me thought making a deal with the devil was just part of the job, but the other half honestly wanted to believe there was some part of you that was decent. Joke's on me, right?"

Len had watched so many people die, he'd killed people with his own hands, but he couldn't watch that frozen metal heap of sharp corners make a bloody mess out of this do-gooder, innocent kid.

The Flash wasn't going to look, and Len was out of time. 

It dropped... "Damn it, Barry!" …and Len threw himself forward as the metal gave an earsplitting shriek when it gave way and came crashing down. 

The Flash was stunned enough that he didn't know how to react, merely went down with Len hard as the walkway landed on top of them with a deafening clang.

XXXXX

It didn’t matter how much his connection to the Speed Force meant he also had a healing factor—pain still hurt, and getting the wind knocked out of him still sucked. 

Barry gasped for breath, coughing through the spasm of dust swirling around him from whatever had just fallen from the ceiling. Cold hadn’t been lying; Barry was such an idiot. 

“Snart…” he choked out, blinking past the haze and waiting for his vision to clear. It was easier to focus on the weight on top of him at first, and eventually he could make out disjointed beams and metal grating covered in ice resting only inches from his face. In his defense, this was all Cold’s fault. 

“Snart…” he called again, but when he tried to move, looking down the full length of his body as he took in the entirety of what had crushed him, he realized that the metal wasn’t the only thing there—Cold’s body was sprawled across him, pinned between Barry and the walkway that had fallen. And he wasn’t moving. 

“Snart!” Barry called more urgently, pushing up against the heavy weight of both Cold and the tangled metal. Cold still didn’t move or give any signs of consciousness. 

Barry told himself to stay calm, to take the time to visually check for injuries on his companion first before he did something foolish like try to move Cold when it was possible he’d been impaled by one of the beams. 

Allowing himself a moment to really look, Barry noted how the metal surrounded them. There didn’t appear to be any beams angled right to be literally through Cold, or through him, it was just a heavy heap. Still, Cold’s head rested on Barry’s chest, having taken the brunt of the blow when the walkway fell, proven by the smear of blood coming from a nasty looking cut on the back of his dark blond head. He’d been knocked out cold.

Barry snorted despite himself. 

“If you were just honest with me from the beginning, I would have believed you when you tried to warn me,” he grumbled, lying back again and using his arms to push up at the metal at an angle with the least resistance. Thank goodness for increased strength. Finally, it started to give way. 

Normally, he’d call for backup in a situation like this, but Caitlin and Cisco had both gone home early because he’d promised he wasn’t going to patrol tonight. He needed a night off too on occasion. But then Barry had heard about the bank robbery, and although it was something the police could easily have handled without him, he hadn’t been able to resist when he realized it was Captain Cold. 

“Of course if you had been honest with me, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with,” Barry groaned, and after a final heave, the jumbled metal of the walkway flew off of them and crashed into the floor a few yards away. 

Barry immediately used his speed to flash out from under Cold as seamlessly as possible, grabbing hold of him at the same time to ease the other man to the floor and carefully turn him over onto his back. His goggles made it difficult to tell if he was really out, so Barry pulled them down to Cold’s neck and found that his eyes were indeed closed. Turned like this though, with his bleeding wound hidden at the back of his head, Barry could almost believe Cold was merely sleeping. 

He checked Cold’s pulse. Steady. Thank god. “Snart? Come on, wake up. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, okay, but you didn’t exactly give me any reason to trust you. Snart!”

Barry didn’t dare shake him, not if he had a concussion, but he couldn’t just speed him to a hospital. They’d arrest him as soon as he was healed, and Cold would be pissed; he’d probably spill Barry’s secret right there out of spite. 

“Why did you do that, huh?” Barry said, staring down into Cold’s face, which looked smooth and younger, and so perfectly symmetrical and male model pretty. Barry wanted to sneer at it, but he found himself appreciating the rare moment to just look and enjoy how handsome Cold was without risk of the other man catching him. 

The few men who had caught Barry’s eye over the years had always looked like this—usually asshole jocks who thought he was nothing but a skinny geek. Clearly, falling for Iris had been the final icing on the spoiled cake to prove how poor his judgment was in potential partners. Always reaching for people he couldn’t, shouldn’t have…

Barry shook himself of such foolish thoughts. Cold was the last person he should be crushing on just because the guy was hot, especially now. He was a jerk. A liar. A thief. Even a killer. 

And he’d probably just saved Barry’s life. 

“If you weren’t lying there unconscious, I’d think this was another trick. You can’t die on me when you finally had a moment of actual heroics, Snart,” Barry implored him, bringing his face close to Cold’s, his gloved hands on either side of the other man’s cheeks, but nothing changed the fact that he wasn’t waking up.

Barry gathered Cold in his arms as snugly as he could, hoping he could run fast enough that it wouldn’t jostle him too much. The only option he had was to take Cold to S.T.A.R. Labs. 

They were there in under a minute, but every second felt doubled for Barry. Cisco had built a keycard into the Flash suit, so he never had to do anything more than try a door to get inside the building at all hours, which also activated the lights. By the time he had Cold inside the main part of the research lab, the last of the lights were flickering on to greet him. 

He gently placed Cold on the same hospital bed he’d spent far too much time on, careful to pull the oversized parka off of him as he did so, in order to better check him for additional wounds. When the parka hit the floor—Barry cared more about not hurting Cold than the coat—it clanked loudly. Once he had Cold laid back, he bent down and found the cold gun attached to the parka’s sleeve. 

“Wow, you resorted to kindergarten logic to thwart me?” Barry had to smile a little. He picked up the jacket and gun, and set them on the nearby table. 

When he turned back, he stuttered in his step, which still happened way more often than it should when he had super speed. Cold just looked so…vulnerable? Like some poor, normal guy who needed Barry’s help; not the supervillain Barry knew him to be; the diabolical and often, well, cold-hearted criminal. But he’d saved Barry when he could have stood back to save himself. That had to count for something. 

The reality of Cold still being unconscious and Barry having no idea what to do about it caught back up with him. It was before 6pm. He was allowed to call for help, from a variety of sources. He had degrees in Biology and Chemistry, but that didn’t mean he was an expert in the medical field. He had to call the others. 

He hovered near the bed a moment, willing Cold to just wake up and be okay, but waiting any longer could put the man’s life in danger, and Barry wasn’t willing to risk that, not because he’d been too stubborn to listen and was the reason for Cold even lying there. 

He turned to speed off and find his clothes, where his cell phone was tucked safely away, but before he could kick into gear, he gasped at the feeling of a tight grip on his wrist. He whirled around to find Cold’s pale blue eyes staring at him wide and panicked. 

“Where am I?” Cold croaked, shaking like he was freezing, or like he might suddenly be nauseous and throw up. “What’s…going on?”

“It’s okay,” Barry said before he could think of anything else. He turned back around fully and put his other hand over Cold’s that still clung tightly to his wrist. Then he realized he was still in The Flash suit and took his hand away so he could pull back the mask. “It’s okay, it’s just me. Barry.”

Cold’s eyes narrowed on him, blinking tightly as if he couldn’t see straight. “Who…?”

“Barry.” Barry waited a moment, assuming Cold’s vision was just blurry, but when the other man continued to stare at him blankly, he added, “Allen? The Flash?

The only reaction was Cold’s eyes travelling gaugingly down Barry’s body and widening at the sight of the skin-tight suit, which made Barry feel far more exposed than it should have and he fought to keep any color from rising in his cheeks. 

He swallowed thickly. “It’s okay, really, just give yourself a moment. You hit your head. Or…something hit you. A lot of something hit you, and I don’t even know if you have any broken bones or other wounds, so just…stay lying back and take a few deep breaths, okay?”

Despite the fear that remained when Cold’s eyes drifted up to meet Barry’s again, he nodded, laid back, and eventually released Barry’s wrist. He breathed as instructed, and Barry took his own advice to slow his racing pulse. 

“Good,” Barry said, once they were both calmed. “Now just take it slow. You probably have a concussion, so bear with me and focus. What year is it?”

Cold gave him a very familiar ‘are you fucking with me right now’ look, which filled Barry with a wave of relief. 

“I said bear with me, all right?” Barry insisted. 

Cold sighed. “2015.”

“What city are we in?”

“Central City. I hope.”

“We are,” Barry assured him. “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Barack Obama,” Cold said mechanically. 

“Good. And who am I?”

“You just told me who you are,” Cold said with skepticism cocooned in a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raise, as if Barry was the one with the head injury.

“Oh. Right, yeah, okay, that obviously wouldn’t work, so…who are you?” he asked instead, figuring that was probably enough questions anyway. 

But he was greeted by silence. He searched Cold’s face for a scowl, another skeptical look, for the usual snark and smug confidence to get thrown back in his face, but he found terror again, a distant look in Cold’s eyes, with his lips slightly parted as he fought for an answer that honestly wasn’t there. 

Blue eyes finally focused on Barry again with a clear sign of no recognition. 

Shit, Barry thought. “That wasn’t supposed to be the stumper.”

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he knows is that his name is Leonard, because some adorable idiot in a red suit told him so. The rest is blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, thanks so much for the warm welcome, folks! There will be much more to come.

He stared at the young man before him, whose wide eyes shimmered with honest concern, brown hair mussed from being matted down by that ridiculous red mask. The yellow lightning bolts on the sides of it made the kid—Barry—look like some garish cartoon character brought to life—though he couldn’t deny appreciating the way the rest of the red leather hugged every curve of Barry’s body. 

Barry. He knew Barry’s name now. He just couldn’t remember his own. 

“Snart,” Barry said earnestly.

Okay, he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. 

“Your name,” Barry explained as if that should have been obvious. “It’s Leonard Snart. That doesn’t sound familiar?”

He shook his head. Leonard—his name was Leonard—but that didn’t feel right for some reason when he thought of himself that way. It wasn’t exactly a common name; with the added surname it should be more than enough to spark some sense of recognition, but his mind remained blank.

“I hit my head?” he asked, still feeling groggy, his mind and vision too blurry to focus on much more than Barry hovering over him, which at least had the effect of calming him despite him having every right to panic.

Barry started to nod when suddenly he shouted, “Your head!” as if only just then remembering. “I mean yes—yes, you hit your head, so don’t rest it all the way back. You have a bad cut where you got struck. Let me just…uhh…” He made to dart one direction, then the other, then finally rested his gloved hands next to Leonard on the bed. He was adorable flustered. “One thing at a time. Right. Let me change quick so I can help you take care of that cut. I think you need stitches.” 

Leonard was about to say something, resisting the urge to reach back and feel this supposed cut, when the pain of it started to catch up with him. Even with the hospital bed propped up so that he sat back without his head resting fully on the padding, it—and several other places on his body—stung. He grimaced.

“I will be right back,” Barry promised him. 

And then he vanished.

Panic seized Leonard at the awful realization that he might have just hallucinated the whole exchange and was actually alone. He made to sit up again, look around, call out, but in the next moment the kid was back. If he hadn’t seen Barry without his mask the past few minutes, he almost wouldn’t have recognized him, changed from his skin tight red leather suit to a black sweatshirt with the S.T.A.R. Labs logo on it in white, and a pair of grey sweatpants. And he was barefoot. He’d vanished and reappeared in a completely different outfit. 

Leonard scrambled up the bed away from Barry. He was losing his mind.

“Oh shit, no, it’s fine!” Barry held up his hands, leaning over Leonard despite trying to look unthreatening. “I’m fine. You’re fine. I just…do that.” He gestured wildly and vague behind him to indicate his miraculous exit and reemergence. “That’s The Flash…that I do. It’s why they call me The Flash,” he said more deliberately. “Sorry, I’m used to you knowing that I do that.” His hands dropped to his sides with a look of utter defeat, deflated from having put Leonard through yet another traumatic moment. 

But the boyish pout was enough to ease some of Leonard’s distress. He forced himself to relax back into the bed. “You do that,” he repeated slowly. He wasn’t crazy; he didn’t think he was. If The Flash was a hallucination, he was a damn impressive one. “What…are you?” Leonard hated the way that came out, but he didn’t know how else to ask. 

“Human,” Barry said, earnest again not offended. “A meta human. It’s complicated but something happened to me and now I can run faster than anyone on the planet. And do other things really fast.” His face brightened in an impossibly wide, toothy smile for a moment, and the expression was so sweet and genuine, it instantly soothed the remainder of Leonard’s anxiety. “I have the suit to hide my identity so I can help people without anyone knowing who I am. It’s also more aerodynamic, flame retardant. It’s necessary, I swear.” His smile fell with his insistence, as if he had explained this to others several times.

It was a fairly ostentatious outfit. And skin tight. 

“So you’re a vigilante?” Leonard asked, eyeing Barry up and down because while the leather had been appealing, the line of his body beneath the sweats was still very nice to look at, and housed a remarkable ability. “With superpowers?”

A corner of Barry’s mouth twitched again, as if it was more used to smiling than any other expression. “Sort of. Yeah.”

“Do I have powers?” Leonard asked as the thought struck him.

“No,” Barry assured him. He glanced over his shoulder, and then dashed—at normal speed—to a nearby table where a parka rested. He moved the jacket aside to reveal a bulky gun like something out of a video game. “You use this. It shoots a beam of cold that can freeze anything in seconds, hence the parka. Oh!” He dashed back to the bed, but then seemed to force himself to go extra slow as he reached toward Leonard’s neck. 

Looking down and following the movement of Barry’s hands, Leonard realized he had a slim pair of black goggles resting on his chest. Barry had to grip his neck to hold the strap down so that pulling them off wouldn’t aggravate his now stinging head wound, and he did so with such tender care and hesitation, like it was the first time he’d ever touched Leonard and wasn’t sure if it was allowed. 

“Thanks,” Leonard said. He didn’t mind at all.

“Sure.” Barry bit his lip as surprise and indecision shifted in his eyes like maybe he’d never heard Leonard thank him before either. He moved to place the goggles with the other articles on the table. 

Some of this wasn’t adding up, and trying to remember, to picture the first time or even the most recent time he’d seen this tall and yet oddly demure young man made his head ache. Leonard looked around the room more critically as he waited for Barry to return to the bed. They were definitely alone. 

“So we’re partners then?” he asked. 

“What?” Barry’s eyes went as wide as they yet had. “No. We’re not…we’re…uhh…” One hand reached up to scrub at the back of his hair as if he might pull a few strands out. 

“But you saved me,” Leonard frowned at him. 

“I did! Because you saved me.” Barry sighed when Leonard’s frown only deepened. His hands moved to grip the back of his neck, elbows both raised, before they shot out from his body to gesture at Leonard emphatically. 

It was fascinating to witness how much Barry said without words, how much his body tried to convey what was clearly spinning too quickly in his head. 

“Okay, so…you pushed me out of the way from falling debris after you shot it with your cold gun and caused it to start to fall in the first place. But it wasn’t on purpose!” He waved his hands as if to banish that thought from Leonard’s mind. But something was off. Barry was trying too hard to spare his feelings. 

“I tried to hurt you…” he realized. 

“You didn’t mean to—“

“I’m the bad guy,” he stated rather than asked, because that was obvious now. Even if the kid hadn’t explained that he was playing hero, it was clear Barry couldn’t be anything but virtuous. His emotions weren’t just on his sleeve, they were hovering around him like a flashing neon sign. Which meant that Leonard…

His eyes drifted down to his hands. They were gloved like Barry’s had been, but in black. 

“You were trying to stop me. I was trying to hurt you.”

“No,” Barry’s hands came into view and rested resolutely on top of his gloved ones without any of the hesitation he’d shown while removing the goggles, “it was an accident. I mean…you were committing a crime. Robbing a bank, actually. But I don’t think you’d ever really mean to hurt me. Not anymore.”

Leonard gradually lifted his chin only to find Barry’s eyebrows downturned in the most pitiable look of compassion. Barry smiled, but with his eyes like that, it made Leonard want to soothe the kid in return. 

“You’re my nemesis, sure,” Barry said, trying to make it sound casual, “but I think you sort of like that. It’s fun for you.”

“For me? But not for you?”

“Uhh…” Barry’s smile faltered.

“Do I hurt other people?” Leonard pressed. If he was the bad guy, the villain, then some part of him should be used to that idea, even if he couldn’t remember. Instead it felt bitter and heavy in his chest.

Barry patted his hands once more but then pulled back, a bit of color rising in his cheeks as if he thought he’d let that moment last too long. “We made a deal. I let you do your thing, mostly, and you keep from hurting innocent people or revealing my secret identity to anyone. You found out and…” 

He gave a long, drawn out sigh and crossed his arms subconsciously. His eyebrows were still downturned, and Leonard almost smiled despite the somber tone of the conversation as he thought of an oversized puppy. 

“Look, it’s a long story, and I’m not really sure what the protocol is here, but I think I’m supposed to lead you toward remembering things on your own, not just tell you everything. Oh! Let me help you with your cut.” His arms dropped as he remembered, and he moved to stand behind the bed. 

Leonard sat up further to give him a better vantage. The feel of tentative fingers brushing his hair aside made him shiver.

“It’s bad but not bleeding anymore,” Barry said. “Stiches I can do easy, and super-fast. You’ll barely even feel it.”

“Wait, what…?” Leonard started to say, but Barry flashed away in a gust of air and was gone. He returned with supplies from one of the other rooms in moments. “Hang on…” Leonard tried again, but Barry disappeared with another gust of air at the back of Leonard’s head. 

He knew the kid was already back there about to stitch him up, but before he could attempt any additional protests, there was swift pressure, and a sharp sting, and then Barry was in front of him again.

“See, not so bad,” Barry said, dumping the supplies on a little cart near the bed, which now included bloodied gauze. 

The speed had made the whole ordeal seem like nothing, over in moments, but Leonard had still been given stitches without anything to dull the pain, and the steady sting started to increase. He hissed, trying not to show too much strain on his face. Instinctively, he reached back to touch the damage.

“No! Don’t do that,” Barry chastised him with a swift dart toward him, palms out as if he meant to grab Leonard’s hand and physically stop him, though he refrained from going that far. “Sorry. We don’t have anything to help with numbing the pain, since none of that really works on me anymore—super metabolism to go with the super speed—but I know Caitlin keeps some ibuprofen around.” 

He vanished yet again and Leonard heard shuffling in a nearby office, then Barry was back with a bottle of pills and a glass of water from somewhere. Leonard didn’t think he would ever get used to that. He accepted the pills and water, downing a good 800 milligrams as he definitely needed the maximum dose. 

“Does anything else hurt?” Barry asked, after setting the pills and water glass on the same tray as the gauze.

Leonard considered that. He really wished he could lie back and close his eyes, wait for the pain killers to take effect and still the sting from the now stitched cut, as well as his steadily growing, pounding headache, but the brunt of the wound was right where he wanted to lie back. 

He pushed the pain aside as best he could. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I mean…my neck aches, but that makes sense if I got hit from behind. I feel sore, but not like anything is broken or bleeding.”

“Let me just check real quick,” Barry said with a short, decisive nod that Leonard wasn’t sure he understood until the kid became a blur of black and grey moving around the bed. The sight wasn’t what made Leonard breathless though.

Barry was touching him as he went, like a gentle but lightning fast pat-down—everywhere. It created goosebumps in its wake, and left Leonard feeling flush and tingly. It definitely helped distract him from the pain in his head.

“Okay, you seem fine. You have no idea how lucky you are.” Barry didn’t seem to realize what he had done to Leonard, but as he looked him over and then met Leonard’s eyes again, the sight of him breathing heavily, tense and rigid as he sat up, helped the lightbulb to turn on. Barry gaped. “Oh god, I am so sorry. That was weird, wasn’t it? I’m just antsy.” He rubbed both forearms at the same time like some kind of drug addict. 

Must be the adrenaline and super metabolism, Leonard thought, or maybe Barry had always been like this. 

“I tend to speed through things more when I’m antsy. Sorry,” he said again. He kept apologizing. 

He wasn’t just antsy, adorable as that was; he was nervous.

“Are you afraid of me?” Leonard asked, frowning as the tingling from Barry’s rapid-touch check-over started to subside. 

“What? No!” Barry shook his head a little too hard.

Leonard was glad the kid had no knack for lying, but it made the ache in his chest tighten. “I’m not exactly in any condition to try hurting you again. I also don’t remember what it’s like to want to hurt you.”

“I know that,” Barry said, gripping the edge of the bed to steady him and bring him closer to Leonard. He kept switching between this erratic mess and deliberate sincerity. “Even if you remember in the next five minutes—and please understand I feel this way when you do remember—we can just call it even tonight, okay? You can leave. You can even take your stuff.” He nodded back at the parka, goggles, and cold gun on the table. 

Then he deflated again and Leonard wasn’t sure why, he only knew that it was because of him, because Barry’s eyes traveled down his body and up again until they bore into Leonard’s own with sympathy and regret.

“I let my temper get the better of me tonight. It’s my fault…I mean, it’s also your fault,” he said with a moment of pouty anger, “but I’m the good guy, I’m supposed to be better than this.” Barry seemed to realize the moment he said that how it sounded.

Leonard didn’t want to be the bad guy right now. 

“Sorry, shit,” Barry said—and Leonard was starting to love the way he sounded when he cursed. “I’m failing miserably at dealing with this, I know. But I’m sure you’ll remember in no time. You weren’t out for that long, really, this is just temporary.” He flashed his sunny smile in the hopes of easing Leonard’s concerns. “You’ll probably remember before the end of the night, by morning for sure, and we can go right back to hating each other.” 

Leonard’s eyes widened.

“Not that I hate you!” Barry cried. He hung his head this time only to look up bashfully. “I was just angry. God, I suck at this.”

Leonard’s lips twitched but couldn’t form into a true smile when there was obviously so much left unsaid, so much unremembered. The sting was there even if the memories weren’t—knowing he was the bad guy and the cause of so much apparent grief for this kid who had saved him. 

“What did I do?” he asked. “Besides the bank robbery.”

“Oh…it doesn’t matter,” Barry dismissed.

“It matters to me.”

“We…” Barry scratched his head again, back to nervous and jittery, “we were working together for a common good and you…double crossed me.”

“Oh. Sorry?” Leonard wished he knew if he was actually sorry, though he doubted it, given how Barry seemed to regard him. Still, he felt sorry now; he hated the thought of letting this kid down if it caused him to make that face.

“You don’t have to say that, I know you don’t mean it.” The smile that had slipped into Barry’s expression melted away in another flash of dread. “I mean, you don’t know how to mean it, because you didn’t… Urg! Sorry, this is really weird. I guess I thought you’d be more…like you, even without your memories, but you seem like you don’t really like anything I’m telling you.”

“Well, would you want to wake up one day and be told you’re the villain of the story?” Leonard liked that even less when he said it out loud.

Barry chewed his lip. “Maybe it’s a nature versus nurture thing, which, if you think about it, is really kind of sad…” Another look of alarm filled his eyes, reiterating that he clearly never thought of his words before he spoke them. “I am really putting my foot in my mouth. Please tell me to shut up.”

This time Leonard did smile. He liked the honesty. He liked everything about Barry so far. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re cute when you ramble.”

Barry promptly blushed as red as his discarded suit. "I..." He stared at Leonard and opened his mouth only for silence to come out like he had no idea how to respond to that. 

“You’re not used to me being nice to you, are you?” Leonard asked with a quirk to his smile.

Barry relaxed a little but still had a flush in his cheeks and down his neck where it disappeared—Leonard wondered how low—beneath his sweatshirt. “I know you can be nice. You’re usually pretty nice to your sister. Your sister!” 

“What?”

“Oh my god, I am such an idiot, she was probably at the bank, but I was so focused on you…” Barry trailed off and moved to stand closer to Leonard’s head, gesturing excitedly. “I can call her.” He paused for emphasis then rushed to the parka. He checked every pocket he could find, but didn’t turn up anything. He looked back at Leonard who, understanding, checked his pants pockets, but there was nothing there either. 

“I have a sister?” he asked, trying to digest that. It was the one thing so far that warmed him a little, something fond stirring in his gut even though he couldn’t conjure her face.

“Yeah…” Barry said, frowning at not being able to find Leonard’s phone. “You’re really close from what I can tell. I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t bring a cell with you on a job, but I don’t know any other way to contact Lisa.”

“Lisa…”

“Does that sound familiar?” Barry brightened.

Leonard searched his brain, but while the ibuprofen was starting to take effect, trying to remember made it ache again. “No…” he lamented. “She’s probably worried about me, huh?”

Their eyes met again, and the honest sympathy from Barry was starting to get to Leonard. What if he never remembered? He knew somehow, deep down, the one thing he’d never want to forget is his sister. He wished he could picture her…

“It’ll be okay,” Barry said, having the confidence this time to place a hand on Leonard’s shoulder. “Like I said, I’m sure you’ll remember in no time, I just need to keep an eye on you for tonight, since it was a head wound. You know, keep you awake a few hours before I let you rest, to make sure nothing’s worse than it looks. We can stay here. It’s a lab—S.T.A.R. Labs, obviously,” he glanced down at his sweatshirt with a sheepish smile, “but there’s a kitchen and sort of break room area with a huge sofa and extra cot for whenever Cisco or…or any of the people who work here might need to stay late and spend the night.” He pulled back. “You should eat something. I know I'm starving. I’ll get you settled on the sofa, it’ll be comfier than this bed, trust me, and we can eat, keep you awake and—”

“Barry?” Leonard grinned fondly at him.

“Yeah?”

“You’re rambling again.”

And as painful as it was—the physical pain, the fear of not really knowing himself or remembering even things he knew should matter to him—Barry’s matching smile and the way their eyes lingered with companionable silence dulled some of the bad. It felt new, being companionable, and Leonard realized that’s because it was, not because he couldn’t remember, but because they were normally enemies.

The flush returned to Barry’s cheeks when, after several moments more, Leonard didn't look away. “Let me just…I’ll just…you relax and I’ll get things settled in the other room, okay?”

Leonard watched in unbridled awe the way the blur of Barry moved around the lab. Sometimes, he wouldn’t see him at all, other times he wondered if Barry was going a little slower on purpose so he could show off the streaks left in his wake. Most of the time, he’d just seem to appear somewhere, disappear, and reappear somewhere else. The walls were mostly glass, so Leonard could see quite a bit even from his lounged position. 

When Barry next stopped in front of him, Leonard couldn’t keep his admiration in any longer. “You’re fantastic. All of it. It’s amazing how you move like that.”

The flush in Barry's cheeks deepened. “Uh…thanks, Snart.” He moved to rub the back of his head as he often did but stopped this time. “I mean, Leonard. I should call you Leonard.”

“Len,” Len said without thinking. 

The admittance surprised them both, but it made Len smile at how something natural had found its way to the surface, even if no other memories were there. 

“I think I go by Len," he said.

A laugh left Barry, filled with relief, probably because the poor kid had been blaming himself for this, even though the story he’d told certainly seemed to suggest that Len had caused it all himself. But even though he felt better now when he thought of himself as ‘Len’ instead of ‘Leonard’, and it soothed him to think he probably would remember his sister in time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember anything else.

Not if forgetting was the reason he was able to see Barry’s face light up like this. 

"Okay,” Barry said, scratching his neck shyly. “Len.”

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Barry gets to know Len, the more he likes him, and yes, he very much recognizes how bad that could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is so weird coming back to this slow-burn fluff after the steamy sex I posted earlier, but also super fun. And look at me, two things in one day! So much more to come! And thank you all so, so much for all the comments so far!

Len. That fit Cold so much better than Leonard. 

Barry was still flustered, and doing a terrible job at hiding it. He wasn’t used to Cold—to Len—being like this. Courteous and remorseful, and so openly enamored with him. 

Amazed. Not enamored. Enamored had an entirely different connotation. Len calling him cute had just been a friendly tease. Thinking his speed was remarkable was a completely normal reaction. Looking at him with heat in his eyes instead of the expected frosty expression and holding his gaze several moments longer than conventional courtesy allowed was just…uhh…

Barry was pretty sure he rambled a bit more before he managed to flash away and finish his preparations in the lounge. It wasn’t exactly a living quarters, but the sofa was huge, and the folding cot, while a little stiff, was better than most camping cots, and they had plenty of bedding to go around so that both of them could get rest in the same room once they were ready to turn in for the night. 

Barry wondered for maybe two seconds if that would be weird, inappropriate somehow, but if Len remembered during the night and decided to cause any damage, Barry needed to be there to stop him. 

The thought of that happening caused Barry to trip over the cot and nearly face-plant into the glass coffee table. That would have sucked. 

He couldn’t think in terms of Len remembering though. He’d already explained that Len could leave, take his things, and call it even between them for now if that happened. He just had to hope that Captain Cold, if and when he was back for good, would honor that. For now Barry had Len to deal with, and Len was pleasant and apologetic, and had really kind eyes for a thief. 

Barry had already decided that explaining things to Caitlin and Cisco tonight would only cause them to panic, or maybe tell Joe, and for all Barry knew, Len might remember by morning and it would all be for naught anyway. Best to just text Joe a quick message that he was sleeping at the lab tonight, and not make anyone needlessly worry. 

The kitchen wasn’t as stocked as Barry had hoped, but there was enough to make a few sandwiches, some chips, soda, water. He had a simple little picnic spread out over the coffee table waiting for them by the time he was ready to help Len to the lounge. 

Len had removed his black gloves when Barry flashed back to his bedside. He took them from him to add them to the pile of Cold gear on the table, then turned back to scrutinize Len’s black sweater, pants, and combat boots. The pants were thin but seemed to be made of something like snow pants material. 

“Did you want to change?” Barry offered. “There’s a stockpile of extra sweats in one of the closets. I’m sure I can find something in your size.” 

Len glanced down his body. “That would be preferable. Sorry I’m so much trouble,” he said with a subtle smile. A smile, not a smirk. It made his face look excruciatingly handsome. 

Barry flashed away and returned with an extra set of sweats that he guessed would fit Len well enough. He handed them to Len and then remembered that they were alone in a very open floorplan with several glass walls. “Uhh…I can wait in the other room while you change. Or…should I…do you need help?” 

He hovered as Len swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up fully for the first time. The sudden movement definitely seemed to dizzy him, as he immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Here…you shouldn’t be moving too much. Let me help.” Barry took the sweats from Len’s arms and set them carefully on top of an empty tray. He removed Len’s boots first, which just seemed to make sense, but his face started to heat up when he felt Len’s eyes on him. 

He considered speeding through things, but wouldn’t that be weirder? Like how completely humiliating basically feeling Len up earlier had been. Barry hadn’t thought of it that way until after he’d finished checking Len’s body for wounds. No, he had to stick with normal speed for this. 

He placed Len’s boots on the table, then returned to help him pull his sweater over his head, careful to avoid the fresh stitches. Len hissed a little anyway, sore other places and still dizzy judging by the way he swayed once the sweater was off. Barry tried not to gape as he traded the sweater for a S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt to match his own. Len concealed a very chiseled physique beneath that parka, along with an impressive collection of scars. 

Barry steadied Len with a hand on one shoulder and the other on his arm, Len gripping him tightly in return as he slid from the bed onto his now sock-clad feet. It seemed so weird for a moment—Captain Cold in socks in front of a barefoot Flash. Then Barry remembered that Len’s pants were next on the agenda, and felt his face set on fire.

“I can manage,” Len said, his smile a little crooked as if he’d read Barry’s mind, though still not quite the teasing smirk Barry was used to. “Just hang onto me a little so I don’t topple over.” He said this jokingly, but with a sense of how much he really did need the assistance. 

He undid his pants and slid them down to reveal ice-blue boxer briefs that so did not make Barry want to snicker, especially since he was trying valiantly to keep his eyes elsewhere while he steadied Len with a hand at his back and one suspended around his hips in case he needed to catch him. 

Len accepted the sweatpants when Barry handed them to him, and didn’t seem too wobbly while pulling them up, though once he was done, he sank eagerly against Barry’s side with a few labored breaths. 

“Okay?” Barry asked.

“A little nauseous.”

“I can speed you to the sofa, but that might make you more nauseous,” Barry warned. 

“You can move me at your speed?” Len looked up at him with honest intrigue and excitement. With Len’s shoulder leaning into Barry’s chest, it brought their faces mere inches apart.

Barry swallowed. “Sure. How do you think I got you here? But it might make you dizzy for a while.”

“I think I’d rather risk that than hobble all the way there, if it’s all the same.”

“Sure,” Barry beamed at him—he wouldn’t openly admit it, but he loved whisking people away to show off his speed. Usually, he was whisking people to jail, so just for fun was always a nice change, not that this was exactly for fun. He was surprised, though, that Cisco and Caitlin hadn’t flat out asked for rides yet—at least Cisco. 

“Hang on,” Barry said, sliding one arm around Len’s back while he bent low and scooped him up off the ground with the other under Len’s knees. He could manage without a bridal carry, but this would be easier for setting Len on the couch when they arrived—honest. 

Len clung to Barry’s neck, tense but with eagerness in his eyes as he looked up into Barry’s face, even closer than before. Barry was a little disappointed that within literally less than a second they were already in the lounge. He laid Len down carefully on the large sofa. It was slate blue, one of those huge L-shaped sets where one side was like a chaise lounge. He placed Len on the longer side so he had more than enough room, propped up on the pillows behind his back so his stitches didn’t actually touch anything. 

“I know it sort of sucks you’ll have to sleep on your side. Assuming you’re a back sleeper. Maybe you’re a stomach sleeper?” Barry thought out loud. 

Len grinned at him. “Guess we’ll find out.” And it shouldn’t have sounded so much like an invitation. Barry was starting to notice that Len did this little eye glance down his body—a lot. He’d done it before today too. Sizing him up, Barry figured. Now it made his whole head feel warm. 

_Don’t think in double entendres, Allen, you are such a goon,_ he chastised himself. 

“I feel a little like roadkill, but I’m not ready for sleep yet,” Len added. 

Barry realized he was hovering again, one hand holding up his weight as it rested on the cushion next to Len’s head. He pushed away and used that hand to scratch back through his hair. “So, how was the ride?” he asked, and then tried not to bite down on his tongue when Len snorted. “I mean…do you feel more nauseated than before?”

Len took a few deep breaths, settling into the sofa. “Actually, more the opposite. I think I always did better with a little turbulence on planes. Maybe you’re good for me, Barry. We’ll have to go again sometime.”

At first Barry thought Len was teasing him, but when Len’s face was the one darkening with a blush, he realized that finally his counterpart was the one who had tripped up and felt the fool. It made Barry laugh, which made Len laugh, and somehow it didn’t feel awkward at all. 

“Hungry?” Barry gestured to the spread of food. 

Len eyed it warily. “I don’t know, there’s still a little nausea left. Are you supposed to eat after a head injury?”

“Umm…maybe? I should probably Google that. I figured if you felt you could, you should to keep your strength up or something. I forget…” 

He sat on the edge of the chaise portion of the sofa and pulled his cell phone from his sweatpants. Since he was just with Len, he figured he could speed through typing, plus he liked the way Len’s eyes widened in wonder whenever he used his powers, following his movements closely. 

“Shit,” Barry hissed as he read up on head wounds. “Uh, no, you shouldn’t eat. I mean, if you get hungry, and feel you can, you can have something small, but this was a bad idea. Sorry.” He stood up to clear the food away. 

Len’s hand on his wrist stopped him. It felt so different—so warm—without the gloves. “But you said you were starving. You can eat.”

“No…I…” Barry cringed. Everything he’d been raised on said that would be way too rude. 

“Don’t you need to eat extra? Because of the speed? I figure with a super metabolism…” Len trailed but looked up at Barry encouragingly. He was still Snart, all right; he picked up on things quick. 

“I should,” Barry admitted. “I kind of have super hypoglycemia and can get pretty cranky and run down if I don’t eat my fair share—which is way more than a normal person’s fair share, lemme tell ya,” he grinned. 

Len grinned back at him. 

“If you’re sure?”

Len released his wrist, but let his fingers slide along the top of Barry’s hand, making him shiver. “Eat. I can pepper you with questions. You need to keep me talking and alert for a while, right?”

Google had at least confirmed Barry got that part right. “Yeah…sure, that’s a good idea. What do you want to talk about?” He sat back down near Len’s feet, on the chaise side, and reached for one of the sandwiches. 

Len’s eyes danced with fond amusement. He looked so normal, lounged back in normal clothes that right now matched Barry’s own. “What do you think I want to know? Tell me all about how Barry Allen became The Flash.”

So Barry did. It didn’t count as telling him things Len already knew, because Len didn’t know all the details surrounding what had happened to Barry, and it wasn’t exactly something Len could use against him later. Though the idea that Len and Captain Cold were the same person kept not computing in Barry’s brain. 

Len was so attentive while he listened, smiled so sweetly, had such a nice low rumble of a laugh since it wasn’t at Barry’s expense. Somehow, Cold—Len—was a really nice guy deep down, and when Barry stopped to think on that long enough, it made something turn sour in his stomach wondering what it was that had changed him and turned him into a criminal instead. 

XXXXX

Barry wasn’t sure when it was that they fell asleep. They talked for so long, Barry had eaten all of the sandwiches before he knew it, and had to make Len a fresh one when he finally said he could eat. 

Mostly Barry talked, since Len didn’t have much to talk about, but he asked a lot of questions, and none of it was what Barry would consider tactical, just personal. Maybe someone like Captain Cold could always make personal things tactical, but Barry refused to think of it like that. When Len remembered who he was, Barry wanted to have left a positive impression. Maybe it would mean something then. Maybe it would change things between them, if only a little. 

So they talked, and talked, and the next thing Barry knew, he was asleep. He hadn’t even managed to spread out on the cot, but was kicked back into the corner by Len’s feet, his own feet stretched out onto the chaise side of the sofa. 

What woke Barry wasn’t his natural clock, but noise, something like whimpers getting louder, and then Len’s feet, that hadn’t seemed close enough before, kicked him in the side, and Barry sat straight up. 

Len had lost the blanket Barry had given him at some point. He was moaning in his sleep now and shifting around like he was in pain.

"Len..." Barry whispered. "Hey..." He stood to move closer to Len between the sofa and coffee table, finding the blanket pooled there on the floor. 

Len’s features twisted but he didn't wake up.

Barry reached for his shoulder, steadying him so he wouldn't roll onto his back and aggravate his head wound. "Len," he tried a little louder. Whatever the dream was, it didn't look pleasant.

Len whimpered again, then started mumbling. Barry dropped to his knees to better hear him. He caught snippets of "Lisa" and "stop" and finally "leave her alone!" as Len's eyes sprang open and his hands shot out to grab Barry by the front of his shirt.

"Len! It's okay, you're okay, it's just me," Barry said swift and soothing, squeezing Len's shoulder under his palm.

The recognition that had been missing the first time Len woke up was present this time, at least proving he wasn't reset to nothing, but then Barry wondered if the dream had been enough to bring all of Len's memories back.

He started to pull away, but Len tightened his grip on the fabric of Barry’s sweatshirt and his expression fell to something so sorrowful, Barry knew it was still Len he was taking to, not Captain Cold.

Barry moved his hand to Len's wrists. "It's okay," he said again. "You were having a bad dream."

Len nodded as if that was a question he needed to answer.

"About Lisa?" Barry asked.

Slowly, Len released his grip on Barry and let his hands fall back to the sofa, his gaze going distant beyond Barry. "I don't know. I think so. There was a little girl."

"Brown hair?"

Len nodded.

"You said Lisa's name. I bet it was her. Sounded like something was happening to her. You were trying to protect her from someone."

"Our father," Len said, but then looked unsure, like he knew it was the right answer but didn't actually remember. "I think? He was big. He looked like me. She was just a little girl, five or six, but I was older, almost a teenager…"

Barry didn't think Len looked that much older than Lisa, but it was possible. "What happened?"

The grief and smoothness of Len’s face, open and honest, shifted into a snarl Barry was more familiar with from his nemesis. "He tried to hurt her. I wouldn't let him." There was venom in the words, threat and hatred. Barry didn't blame him one bit.

Maybe that was the answer to the question that had soured his stomach—about what had turned Len into a criminal. A catalyst built on hate and necessity. 

"You've been looking out for your sister for a long time." Barry frowned as he remembered they had no way to contact Lisa. "We'll figure something out. We always cross paths eventually. But this is good," he added reassuringly. "Your mind is trying to remember."

Len didn't look like he agreed it was a good thing.

“Do you remember anything else?” Barry asked, sitting back comfortably on his heels, their faces close as Len remained lying on his side. “What about your mother?”

“She wasn’t there,” Len said, relaxing more fully into the cushions, the tension seeping gradually from his shoulders. “I don’t think she’d been there for a long time. Maybe she passed away? I don’t know…but Lisa…” he trailed for a moment, his gaze drifting before he focused on Barry, “…I remember Lisa’s mother more, her face, I think it’s her face…but she left.” 

Barry hadn’t known Len and Lisa had different mothers. He had never looked into Captain Cold’s past all that thoroughly beyond former crimes. He didn’t want to interrupt though when Len was finding his way to memories on his own. It might all come back in a rush. 

But Len frowned and shook his head. “It’s gone. I can’t remember anything else. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Barry asked with a grin. Len was so strangely endearing; it still amazed Barry that this was the same man who’d threatened him and fought against him so recently. 

“You’re trying so hard to help me,” Len shrugged. “I feel like I owe you something for that.”

“You don’t owe me remembering who you are, you only owe that to yourself, and even if you don’t remember more…” Barry sighed. Len shouldn’t feel pressured to remember. He’d already come so far. It had been a bad hit to the head, after all. He could have died. “You remembered something, right? Lisa will be all smug and happy when you tell her that she was the first thing that started to come back to you.” He smiled again at that. 

She really would be, and Len would probably roll his eyes while secretly loving every moment. One thing Barry never doubted was how much Len loved his sister. 

“But she seemed almost a decade younger than you in the dream, huh? I wouldn’t have guessed that. You gotta be what, thirty-five? I figured she was late 20s maybe. Or am I not allowed to guess a woman’s age?” Barry joked. 

A confused look crossed Len’s face. “Thirty-five…” he repeated. 

“Am I guessing way off? Is it younger? I’m terrible with ages.”

“It was my birthday not too long ago, I think. Yes…” Len’s eyes widened as he remembered. “I’m forty-three.”

Barry was pretty sure his jaw dropped into his lap, though he tried to recover when Len raised one of those sculpted eyebrows at him. “Uhh…sorry, I just…really? You look great for your age. Not that you’re old!” he added hastily, so easily falling into his pattern of foot-in-mouth syndrome. “I mean…you look younger. Suddenly, I feel like you calling me ‘kid’ all the time is more validated…”

Len smiled, and the way it smoothed his face again made him look so young, so much younger than he was. Barry couldn’t believe nearly two decades separated them, a whole adult person, really, and yet it amazed him how much they had in common. 

“I told you about Iris, right?” Barry said, realizing he hadn’t yet moved his hand from resting on Len’s wrists, even when they’d dropped to the sofa, but he sort of didn’t mind keeping it there. He smoothed a thumb along the skin as Len nodded. “Both of us have sisters we watch out for, that we’d do anything to protect. Both of us always wanted something more exciting out of life, something worthwhile.”

“I rob people,” Len deadpanned, though the twinkle in his eyes remained. 

“But you don’t do it for the things you steal, you do it for the thrill. Okay, maybe that’s a bad example of something a person should strive for,” Barry chuckled, “but you never would have settled for ordinary for yourself, and I can understand that. I felt the same way. Even though my adopted-dad hated the idea of me or Iris getting a job with the police, I knew I had to do something that helped people. And forensics is fascinating, always different, always a challenge.”

“Being The Flash has to add a new dimension to that,” Len said. “Now you can be even more active saving people, and still help behind the scenes in your lab. Probably doesn’t leave much room for hobbies, huh?” he added in amusement. 

Barry chuckled again. “I have hobbies. I’m amazing at karaoke, apparently.”

“You sing?”

Panic settled in Barry’s stomach as he took that for a request. “Please don’t make me sing on demand, I am really out of practice. I did glee club in school though. Joe was a choir kid, and he really believed in the importance of the arts to an education, so he insisted that Iris and I had to at least be in band, choir, or an art class. Iris started with band and eventually gave that up for photography. I stuck with choir. Wouldn’t be a viable career choice for me, trust me, but I can still be caught singing in the shower.” Barry felt his cheeks burning. He was rambling again, he just knew it. 

“I bet that’d be something to witness,” Len mumbled softly, but pressed on before Barry could flush too much darker. “What’s your favorite song?” he asked, completely sincere. 

Barry’s mind blanked. “Wow…I…have no idea. I am partial to show tunes. And Michael Jackson era pop. And Smokey Robinson! He is the best. My mom had all of his albums when I was a kid, and would listen to them all the time. She had a huge thing for Motown.”

“Your mother had good taste,” Len nodded in appreciation. “But hey, I’m starting to feel bad with you kneeling there while I’m lying down. Get back up here. We can play 20 Questions until we fall back to sleep.”

Barry felt his smile stretching and his face heating up at the same time. Why every sweet thing Len said turned him into a blubbering idiot, he had no idea. He squeezed Len’s wrist before letting go to stand up, and the expression Len bestowed on him was beyond beautiful. 

Okay, maybe he had a little idea. 

After retrieving the blanket and spreading it over Len, who watched him with genuine fondness and gratitude, Barry moved to reclaim his old spot. But, as he sat in the corner of the sofa, instead of stretching his feet onto the chaise side, he took a chance and settled them in the crook of the sofa behind Len. The sofa was large enough that they only touched from the knees down, but it shot a small thrill through Barry when Len glanced across their bodies at him and smiled. 

“I should be asking you the questions,” Barry said. “Maybe a few quick ones will jog some things from your memory. Like…what’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Len answered without thinking. He looked surprised by his answer, but shrugged after considering it and not deeming it wrong. “You?”

“Blue. Favorite cartoon character? Or is that too childish for an old man like you.” 

Len laughed. It was quickly becoming one of Barry’s favorite sounds. 

XXXXX

When Barry roused the second time, it wasn’t by his natural clock either, but a sense of cold, of absent heat rather, and he rolled over in search of it and almost toppled onto the floor. He awoke just in time to catch himself, gasping awake from being so startled. He blinked around the room. The lights were on—had they ever turned them off? He couldn’t remember. But that’s not what caused him to flash to his feet. 

Len was gone. 

Barry looked around. He could see the lab from the lounge through the glass walls. It was a ways away, but close enough that he could clearly see the Cold gear piled neatly where he had left it. If Len had remembered during the night and decided to bolt, why wouldn’t he have taken his gear?

“Barry?”

Barry whirled around, facing the small hallway that led to the bathroom…where Len stood, still in his borrowed S.T.A.R. Labs sweats and plain black socks, looking refreshed and alert and a little concerned that Barry probably looked panicked. 

“Sorry! I just…I just woke up and…”

“I’m still here,” Len assured him with a small smile that answered everything else Barry wanted to know: he still didn’t remember being Captain Cold. 

“What the hell is he doing here?!”

Cisco and Caitlin, on the other hand…

Barry whipped the other direction to the entrance out to the labs to find his friends already in for the morning, gaping at them, a particularly angry expression on Cisco’s face. They…they definitely remembered he was Captain Cold. 

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with Cisco and Caitlin's reaction to him puts several things into perspective for Len, and he wonders if he ever wants to remember being Captain Cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, do not expect updates this regularly, god, you guys are demanding! I just can't seem to stop writing, but I do have other things to do, I swear! Who am I kidding, I'll no doubt write this weekend too. Love you all!

Len felt his chest constrict at the sight of Barry so frozen, caught in the wake of the anger and distaste from these new arrivals—toward him. 

These were the first people Len had even seen aside from Barry since he woke up, newly erased. General knowledge and a few scattered memories had come back to him, but nothing substantial, nothing that helped him understand why the people at the mouth of the lounge were looking at him with such hatred. Especially the young man. He looked livid. 

“Barry,” the woman pressed, her expression firm, wary, though not quite as toxically accusing as her companion. 

“It’s not what it looks like!” Barry said—which was news to Len because he wasn’t sure what this looked like. 

“So that isn’t Captain Cold wearing one of our S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirts?” the young man barked.

It looked like that, apparently, and wasn’t an untrue statement. Only, if Len didn’t remember being Captain Cold, maybe it wasn’t what it looked like. 

The way they were positioned in the room had Len closer to the pair on the other side, while Barry was caught in the center of the room to the right—well, left for Len—by the coffee table and sofa. 

“I don’t—” Len tried, taking a step forward, but Barry flashed between Len and the others as soon as the young man made an abortive jerk as if he meant to intercept Len himself.

“He’s not Captain Cold right now!” Barry jumped to Len’s defense, hands raised. “I pulled him from a bank robbery last night, we got into a fight, and he ended up saving me when part of the building came down on us. He hit his head and doesn’t remember anything.”

The pair looked at each other and then at Barry with matched skepticism. 

The young man stood shorter than the woman, younger too, but with enough fury filling his face and stance to more than make up for that. He had a picture of Bones, Doctor Leonard McCoy, from Star Trek on his T-shirt. Len had always loved that character, he suddenly remembered. He wondered if it was because they shared a name. It couldn’t be often he shared his name with a popular fictional character. 

Len’s attention shifted to the young man’s face as he took another step forward. 

“Doesn’t remember anything?” he repeated with a sneer. “And you believe that? The guy was built to lie to you, Barry. He’s never done anything but lie to you!”

“I know, Cisco, okay,” Barry backed up closer to Len—Len wished he could see Barry’s face, “but I swear it’s the truth. I did the stitches on the wound myself, and if he was faking, he had more than enough opportunity last night to try something while we were sleeping.”

“You slept here?!” Cisco shot back. “With him?!” 

“Okay…” The woman moved in front of Cisco, her snug grey dress shifting smoothly with her movements. Her gaze was hard when she glanced at Len, but diplomatic when she looked at Barry and Cisco. “Maybe we just all need to calm down a minute. Barry, why don’t you explain to us in a little more detail exactly what happened last night.”

Remaining in their positions, Len a few feet back, while Cisco and Caitlin—Len learned—stood a few feet in front of Barry like he was some neutral zone point of no return neither of the other sides was supposed to cross…Barry explained everything. It was helpful for Len to hear as well, since he had only partially understood what had transpired to cause him to get his head wound in the first place. More details of the event didn’t make him feel any better about his alter ego. 

Maybe it was Len’s vacant and he hoped innocent expression through it all that seemed to convince Caitlin. Cisco was another story. 

“He kidnapped Caitlin, Barry! Then me and my brother. He forced me to tell him your identity. Betrayed us—”

“I know!” Barry interrupted, glancing back at Len apologetically, which seemed so silly—Len should be the one apologizing. “I know, Cisco, but we’re the good guys, aren’t we? Right now he isn’t Captain Cold, he’s just a man who needs our help.”

“And when he gets it, who knows what he’ll do to us as a thank you,” Cisco snarled. 

“You do seem more forgiving when Lisa Snart is involved,” Caitlin pointed out with a sly smile.

Cisco scoffed and pointed a finger at her with a gaped mouth for several moments. “She…has been nice to me on occasion. He,” he pointed more sharply at Len, “has not.” 

“Look,” Len entered the conversation finally, moving to stand beside Barry instead of behind him, because he was tired of standing there, and actually felt like he might need to lie down again, but he didn’t want to be any trouble until they sorted this. 

His movement, however, caused Cisco to back up a step and Caitlin to tense. 

“I really don’t remember. I swear I don’t remember doing any of the things you’re accusing me of. And I know that doesn’t mean I didn’t do them,” he rushed on when Cisco opened his mouth with a glare, “or that I don’t deserve punishment for every last thing you’ve mentioned. But I don’t remember. I’m sorry anyway. But I really…don’t remember.”

He felt Barry’s hands on him before he realized he’d started to sway. 

“Len? You should get back on the sofa,” Barry said in concern. “You need more rest, and probably more pain killers. And you should eat something substantial now that you’ve made it through the night okay.” 

Barry was rambling a little again. Len loved it when he did that. He let himself sag against Barry gratefully and forgot for a moment that the others were there. 

“Len?” Cisco grumbled scornfully. 

And then he remembered. He tried to push away from Barry; he was causing too much trouble for the kid. 

“Hey,” Barry said, holding Len tight against him and refusing to let him get away. His gaze softened when Len looked up at him, then hardened as he looked back at Cisco. “He’s hurt. Actually hurt, because he threw himself into danger to save me. It doesn’t matter how we ended up in that situation to begin with, it matters that we’re here now, and he needs our help. Are we the good guys or not?” he asked in challenge. 

Len wasn’t used to Barry sounding so commanding, but it had the desired effect. Cisco and Caitlin both cowed in the face of his forceful tone. 

“Here,” Barry said, and the next thing Len knew, he was back on the sofa. It never ceased to amaze and impress him how Barry could move like that. “Let me get you some more ibuprofen and some toast or something. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.” He smiled hopefully, but there was a pained expression behind his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday. 

Len tried not to look at Cisco or Caitlin as he nodded. 

“Cisco,” Barry turned back to look at the startled pair, “you don’t happen to have Lisa’s number, do you?”

“N-No,” Cisco sputtered, his face agape with an awkward smile twitching at his lips. “Why…why would I have that?”

Barry sighed. “Just figured it was worth asking. She’s one of the few things Len sort of remembers, but we don’t have any way to let her know what happened to him.” He walked back around the sofa, but Len couldn’t help noticing how he stood in a way that shielded him from the others again. “Can you guys check on what happened at the bank after I took Cold? Maybe someone has a line on where Lisa went. I didn’t have a chance to look into anything after we got here. I was…busy.” He sounded like he was trying to keep from being short with them, but was ready to snap if they tried to fight him on anything else. 

Caitlin frowned but with traces of sympathy hidden in the depths of her gaze. “I can do that,” she said, turning back toward the lab. 

Cisco opened his mouth to protest after her, then looked back at Barry, who Len couldn’t see well, but that he figured had a pleading expression. Barry’s shoulders sagged with a sort of pleading, at least, and Len could just picture Barry’s downturned eyebrows. Naturally, Cisco relented; no one could resist that look, Len was sure of it. 

“Maybe…Lisa will think to come here,” Cisco said at last. “She’s been here before. She knows he was last with you. And when nothing pops up on the news about him being in custody, she’ll probably assume you’re together.” 

“I don’t think she’ll worry…too much,” Len spoke up. He felt a little too under scrutiny when Barry turned to look at him and Cisco’s eyes landed on him as well. 

It was strange having this faint sense of Lisa without really remembering her. It was as if he could picture her smile now, not her whole face, but he knew her expressions, and could imagine how she would laugh, or scold him, and things that might annoy her, but he couldn’t think of any exact examples of those things happening. 

“I think…I think she might be used to me disappearing sometimes, but I always eventually come back, so she wouldn’t worry for a few days, at least. After that…if I’m still here…” Len shifted his gaze away from Cisco’s frown to Barry’s hopeful expression, “then maybe she’ll come looking.” 

“Well, the police don’t have her,” Caitlin said as she reentered the room. “Official report is that both Lisa and Leonard Snart escaped the scene. No mention of The Flash.” 

“I was in and out with Cold too fast for the cameras to see me. I was…a little upset when his name came up after what happened the last time we saw him…” Barry grimaced, and once again looked to Len apologetically. 

“I wonder why…” Cisco muttered. 

Barry scowled at him, and something like static passed between them, this invisible electricity of unsaid comebacks and remarks, until both finally looked away from each other, equally defeated and upset that they didn’t agree on this—on whether or not Len was worth saving. 

Len wondered if Barry had too much faith in him. It didn’t seem like he deserved it. 

“Caitlin,” Barry said solemnly, “can you look over my stitch job and make sure Len’s okay? I didn’t check any other vitals or anything. I wasn’t really sure what to do.”

Caitlin nodded with a tightening of her lips, but her eyes still held some compassion as she looked over at Len. “Of course. If you made sure he got rest, that’s the best you could have done, and if he made it through the night without any complications, that’s a good sign. Just a headache and some dizziness, no vomiting?” she asked Len directly. 

“No, but the nausea is definitely close to the surface. I think I could eat something small again though.”

“Toast,” Caitlin told him, “like Barry said. Barry, why don’t you go get that and some pain killers for him, and I’ll bring my things over here so…Len doesn’t have to get up again.” She tripped a little on his name, but still made the effort to use that rather than ‘Cold’. 

“Right.” Barry flashed away, and Caitlin turned with her tight smile to gather whatever things she needed from the lab to look Len over, leaving Len alone with Cisco. 

Cisco…who stood resolute and crossed his arms as if he dared Len to tell him to leave. 

The tension in Len’s chest increased as they stared at each other from across the room, and he felt his features weighed down by the sorrow he felt, the helplessness of not remembering, but of somehow having caused someone such distress that it prompted this level of distrust and loathing. He dropped his gaze to his hands resting limply in his lap. 

“I…”

“Okay…the kicked puppy look is pretty convincing,” Cisco interrupted, with a touch of frustration like he didn’t want to believe that, “but I swear if this is somehow an act just to get to Barry, to any of us, and you betray us again when we’re honestly just trying to help you right now…”

“It’s not a trick,” Len looked up, noting how Cisco’s arms had fallen, his face conflicted, “I swear. I wouldn’t betray you…I mean, I know I apparently did betray you, but right now, whoever Captain Cold was, I’m not him. There’s all this blank space…” He reached up and pressed his palms into his eyes. He was starting to feel the need for the pain killers again. “Sometimes it’s so close, I can almost…but then it’s gone. And whatever emotions I might have felt toward any of you before, when I did remember, those feelings aren’t there anymore. You’re trying to help me, and I know it’s more than I deserve, which Barry will probably never really understand or agree with…but I swear to you, I am not here to cause any trouble. I’m just good at causing it anyway.” 

When Len finally looked up with a weak, self-deprecating smile, he saw the halting way Caitlin stood at the door, having started to come back in but faltering as she overheard the conversation. 

Barry flashed in, peanut butter toast, a glass of water, and the ibuprofen bottle somehow all balanced in his hands, which really, he probably could have come back with much sooner given his speed, so Len wondered if he’d taken a little longer on purpose to prompt this conversation. 

Cisco looked…satisfied? Sad? Len wasn’t sure if he could read the kid, but he seemed to have lost his ire for now. 

Len accepted the pills, grateful again at Barry’s attentiveness, and slowly ate away at the toast as Caitlin moved to stand behind the arm of the sofa and check his wound. She hissed when she got a look at it. 

“Well, you weren’t lying about the knock to the head, that’s for sure. Barry did a good job on the stitches though. Let me just disinfect this a little better, make sure it heals like it’s supposed to.”

“Thank you,” Len said earnestly between bites of toast. 

“Uhh…of course,” Caitlin said with obvious surprise. 

“Are you guys okay here if I run take a shower and change?” Barry asked. The tension had dissipated between him and Cisco, but it seemed to fill the room again on these words, for all of them. “I’ll only be one room over…” Barry assured them.

“It’s fine,” Cisco said, sitting on the arm of the chaise section of the sofa, close, but not too close to where Len laid. “He’s weaponless and injured, and I’m starting to think there is no way Cold could be this good of an actor with how much he enjoys hearing the sound of his own sardonic voice, so…it’s pretty likely he’s on the level. We’ll be good.” He eyed Len as if studying him closely, but without the animosity, more like something challenging that Len took as a small form of acceptance. 

“Thanks,” Barry said. He smiled sunnily at Len, as bright as he had yet managed since Caitlin and Cisco arrived. “I won’t be long.” He flashed away.

Len couldn’t help snickering, even though it turned into a hiss as Caitlin finished her exam of the stiches with a press of disinfectant. “Doesn’t he take super-fast showers anyway?” Len said, swallowing back the last of his small, but more than enough on his queasy stomach, breakfast. 

“Not really,” Caitlin said. “Showers, when Barry isn’t running late, which he usually is, is one of the few things he enjoys being slow at.” She came around the sofa to sit on the edge of the coffee table closer to Len and seemed to realize what she had just implied. “Not that I know that from any personal experience! I am very happily married—”

“Recently married,” Cisco supplied.

“Happily,” Caitlin repeated with a stern look, and Len could tell it was only a playful tease between them by the way Cisco smiled. 

“Anyway…we just tend to know a lot about Barry’s habits since we ask a lot of questions for his well-being,” she explained. “Can you roll up your sleeve? I just want to check the basics. Pulse. Blood pressure.”

Len did so and held his arm out to her. “You watched over him after the lightning strike,” he said. “Helped him develop and control his abilities. I know. He told me about it. You saved his life. Several times over. You can tell he’s grateful by the way he talks about it. You both mean a great deal to him.”

Caitlin fumbled a bit with the blood pressure monitor. 

“It’s okay. Barry wasn’t used to me being…nice, either.” Len smiled at her. She looked even more surprised, but smiled—for the first time—genuinely back at him. 

“That’s because you’re not nice,” Cisco said, and Caitlin immediately shot him a glare, but Cisco continued, “usually. That’s why this is weird…but also makes me think it has to be real. You really don’t remember? Our faces aren’t at all familiar? Or Barry’s?”

Len shook his head. 

“Not even a sense like—”

“Cisco.” The device on Len’s arm beeped and Caitlin peered at the numbers that displayed. “Blood pressure is a little high, but that’s normal, especially if you haven’t eaten much in the last 12 hours. Nothing to be concerned about. It was just the head wound?”

“And some bruises. I’m sore, but nothing else noticeable.”

“Given how long you’ve been here without getting any worse, you’ll probably be fine, then,” she said. “Memory, however, is…tricky. Just because you don’t seem to have any major damage, doesn’t mean there isn’t deeper damage where we can’t see. And even if there isn’t damage, that doesn’t mean your memories will just come back. They might come back in the next five minutes...”

“Or they might not come back at all,” Len finished for her. 

Hey eyebrows downturned in a similar fashion to Barry's. “Yeah.”

“Would it bother you if I said I…maybe wouldn’t mind if I never remembered?”

“Nope,” Cisco said concisely. “You were a dick.”

“Cisco!”

Len laughed. He could tell that Cisco didn’t mean it with any hostility, he was just someone who spoke his mind. “Then let’s hope I don’t. I want to see Lisa. I know I will eventually. Maybe I’ll remember more then. But I don’t want to. I don’t like the person who prompts those expressions from you, who did those things to you, who you hate. Barry told me my record was wiped clean? I could start over. Be a new person. Be someone completely different from Captain Cold.

“Barry said…nature versus nurture. Maybe this is who I would have been if whatever shaped me into Captain Cold never happened. It doesn’t mean I’m not me. Lisa would understand that too, don’t you think?” He looked at them each in turn. 

Their returning expressions weren’t encouraging. 

“Sure,” Caitlin finally said, haltingly. 

“She does really care about you,” Cisco added. 

“Look,” Caitlin said, standing with her equipment, “Barry is probably almost done in there. Why don’t you go take your turn? Take it slow. Try not to get your stitches wet. If you start to feel dizzy, call for us. Barry can be there in seconds, as you already know,” she smiled. “You’ll probably feel better.”

A shower sounded amazing actually. Len was skeptical he could handle more than a quick one before he’d want to lie down again, but at the same time, the thought of needing to call for Barry’s help wasn’t without its perks. 

“Thanks,” he said, surprised and pleased that she offered a hand when he sat up and made to stand, and even more so that no wave of dizziness met him once he was on his feet. He headed toward the bathroom with a small, appreciative smile offered to both of them, and thought they looked at least somewhat like they believed him.

He’d already found his way to the bathroom earlier, having awoken with the need to use it, but not wanting to bother Barry since he had looked so peaceful sleeping there, tucked into the sofa along Len’s legs. 

Much like the partial living space of the lounge and kitchen, the bathroom was built to accommodate people staying at the lab for longer periods, with urinals, several stalls for toilets, and a line of showers at the back, sectioned off with curtains. He’d caught a glimpse of a large tub in the far back corner, though he hadn’t wanted to snoop around too much while he was there before.

Now he entered more boldly, having been given permission, and opened his mouth to call for Barry so he wouldn’t walk in on him in any compromising position. 

Apparently, he wasn’t fast enough. Before he got the words out, he turned the corner to look down toward the showers to see Barry already out, unabashed at having the curtain thrown back from the stall he’d chosen as he started to dress, only just getting his underwear up his thighs as Len spotted him. Barry hadn’t noticed him yet.

Maybe twenty-five feet separated them down the length of the bathroom, Barry turned sideways as he sifted through a pile of more normal looking clothes of his on the bench in front of the showers—jeans, a heather grey sweater. The line of his body was so long. Barry was only about an inch taller than Len, and yet something about the lanky, toned muscles of his body enhanced that. Unlike Len, Barry didn’t appear to have a single scar or mark on his body, just newly healed, fresh skin from his abilities. He radiated a thrum of power even when his movements were at normal speed. Len wished for a moment that he had managed to catch Barry singing, if he'd fallen into the habit today, but this wasn't bad either.

He sighed in appreciation before realizing what a terrible voyeur he was being. Barry heard him, turned his head, and flushed darkly—all the way down the line of his sculpted, bare chest.

“Sorry.” Len looked away. 

He heard a flurry of movement. When he glanced up again, Barry was dressed, striding toward him scratching his head. 

“No, uhh…I was taking forever. It’s fine. Everything okay?” Barry’s insecure smile was definitely the sweetest version. Len wanted to tell him he had nothing to be insecure about.

“Clean bill of health from the doc for now,” Len said instead. “Caitlin suggested I join you. I mean…” He was pretty sure Captain Cold never stumbled into phrases like that, “…just that I should…should take my turn getting freshened up too. No trouble. Not even from Cisco.” He smiled, hoping his fumbling wasn’t too humiliating. 

Barry seemed adorably amused. “Should I get you a fresh set of sweats?”

“No, these are fine again for today.”

“Okay. We’ll get you something else to wear once we, uhh…decide what to do next.” Barry’s face fell and he bit his lip. “I don’t need to be at work today, so I can stay, but I don’t think it’ll be safe for you to leave for a while. You’re still sort of a wanted man.”

“You’ve already done so much for me, Barry, there's no rush. Though I suppose it’s hard for you to take anything slow, huh?” he grinned. “I’ll start with a shower.” He moved past Barry, reaching up to pat the kid's chest in what felt like such a natural gesture of comradery and affection, even though there was no reason it should.

Barry beamed at the contact. “I promise I’ll knock if I come back in,” he said with a teasing undertone.

Len laughed.

XXXXX

Barry knew his face was on fire. Of course it was. He’d never been able to control his body, and despite having impressive control over his speed now, that hadn’t changed much since he became The Flash. 

How much had Len seen before Barry caught him? Not that he’d caught him! Surely, Len had walked in accidentally, he hadn’t been…checking Barry out. 

The look on Len’s face when Barry first saw him, though, had certainly looked like want, the eye-dart down and back up his body, the way Len had actually been the one to flush and stammer a little. 

Barry needed to focus. There had to be some sort of ‘don’t be a creeper’ handbook when it came to amnesia victims, right? He was pretty sure he was failing all of its tenets right now.

He found Cisco and Caitlin back in the main room, hard at work on something at one of the monitors.

“What’s up?”

They both jumped, and Caitlin clicked something on the computer as if they feared being found out doing something he’d disapprove of.

Barry frowned. “Guys, what? Please tell me there aren’t security cameras in the bathroom and that you are spying on Len right now.” He wished he meant it as a joke, but he wouldn’t put anything past these two sometimes. 

Both looked rightfully scandalized at the suggestion. Then Caitlin slumped.

“Not in the bathrooms,” she said. “But there are cameras in the lounge.”

“So?”

“So…we were watching footage from last night,” Cisco explained.

That should not have filled Barry’s stomach with as much lead and embarrassment as it did. He moved to stand behind them and get a look at the monitor himself, crossing his arms as if it might protect him from whatever accusations they were about to throw at him for behaving like such a dopey idiot. But the footage on the screen appeared to be of only a few minutes before Caitlin and Cisco arrived. 

Barry was conked out on the sofa, curled toward the back, taking up very little room considering his size. At least he hadn’t snuggled Len or anything; that would have been something worth dying of embarrassment over. But Len was awake. Sitting up at the end of the sofa. Watching Barry.

“We just wanted to make sure he hadn’t done anything while you were sleeping that might show he was faking it,” Caitlin said. “Not that we think he is!” she added quickly, “we just wanted to be sure.” 

“And?” Barry pressed.

Cisco possibly looked the most downtrodden, and at first Barry wasn’t sure if it was worry or guilt. “Nothing. He just slept. It’s only here that he woke up.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Barry was starting to think these two were losing it. 

“It’s just sort of…sweet,” Caitlin shrugged. “We weren’t expecting sweet.” She clicked the play button on the screen.

In the footage, Len continued to sit there, watching Barry silently, looking contemplative and a bit sad, in Barry’s opinion. Barry stirred, trying to press deeper into the couch cushions, and Len reached a hand out to place it on his leg—just a small touch, meant to sooth. It worked instantly, and Barry settled.

Len stood, taking the blanket with him, which he spread out over Barry carefully, tucking it up by his shoulders. He hovered a moment, just watching again. Then he grabbed his head, like maybe it pained him—it probably did—before he released a heavy sigh and headed out of the lounge toward the bathroom, which was about the time Barry remembered waking up.

He hadn’t noticed Len had done any of that because of how violently he’d awoken, the blanket on the floor by the time he was fully alert.

His arms unconsciously tightened across his chest. “See,” he tried to play it off like that hadn’t been anything special, or at all strangely affectionate, “he’s totally on the level. He doesn’t remember anything.”

“We believe you,” Cisco said sincerely, but his eyes were doing that ‘I really don’t want to have to tell you this, but I’m going to anyway’ thing they did so well. “But whatever it is that’s making him such a different guy right now, Barry, you gotta be prepared for when he remembers…and turns back into Captain Cold.” 

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry gets called into the CCPD and has to face his family a little sooner than expected. Len squares off against his cold gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on how Len hijacked this chapter at the bottom!

Barry flashed into his lab at the CCPD through the back, the way he went when he wanted to pass as few people as possible, regardless of them not being able to see him. He couldn’t believe he’d been called into work—on a Sunday—right after he’d told Len he wouldn’t have to leave. It was just the price he paid for working with the police. It didn’t matter what day of the week it was if an ongoing investigation needed lab work done after a new suspect was charged. 

He was also wary about leaving Len alone with Cisco and Caitlin—who also shouldn’t have been at work on a Sunday, but apparently there were a lot of strange details to work out with Wells’ ‘disappearance’ to make sure S.T.A.R. Labs stayed open and the two of them stayed employed, all while keeping the questions to a minimum.

Len had told him not to worry, of course. Caitlin had told him not to worry. But Cisco had eyed Len with trepidation like he thought the guy was going to suddenly smirk, grab his cold gun, and waste them all.

Urg. Barry just wanted to get back there. 

He sped through each part of the tests he needed to run that he could actually speed through, but some things couldn’t be hastened by The Flash; some science had a waiting period and couldn’t be rushed. He tapped his pencil irritably during those parts. His patience had taken a nosedive since becoming the fastest man alive, and it was not doing any better today. 

While he waited for the last part of a blood analysis to finish, he used his computer to check again on Lisa Snart, confirming what Caitlin had said about both Snarts having been reported as escaping the scene, Lisa getting away with an impressive amount of jewelry and other priceless items from the 1st National safe deposit boxes—but no one knew where. 

Barry sighed, finally nearly done with his work. All he had to do was turn in the samples to Evidence, file his report, and he could get back to Len.

“Hey, Barry. Sorry you had to come in for this one today, but you know how it is,” Joe said as he entered, the black beanie he favored more on the weekends pulled down over his head. 

Barry startled. He knew this was Joe and Eddie’s case—nothing meta or Flash related, for once—but he’d sort of forgotten he might run into Joe just now. “Hey! It’s fine. I was just…at the lab. The other lab.”

“Rough night?” Joe asked, coming up to the table to hover with an air of fatherly concern.

Barry remembered he’d told Joe he was sleeping at S.T.A.R. Labs so he wouldn’t worry when he didn’t come home last night. “Nothing too crazy,” he lied, and felt a twinge in his gut as he did so. 

“Barry,” Joe gave him his patented patronizing eyebrow raise, “it’s okay. I know about Snart. How could I not.”

That got Barry to sit up straighter. “You do? But how? Did Cisco and Caitlin call you?”

“I’m a police officer, Barry, I tend to know when a crime has been committed.” He moved around the table to stand beside Barry, placing a large, firm hand on his shoulder. “You can’t beat yourself up about things like this, Barry. Even you can’t be everywhere at once. So you missed the Snarts this time around. There’ll be other crimes to stop. You’ll get your chance to bring them in.”

Barry realized that Joe did not know the Snart thing he thought he knew; he was talking about the bank robbery. Barry had just been given the perfect opportunity to keep his lie going, nod along, play off sleeping at the lab as feeling guilty he’d been elsewhere when Lisa and Len hit 1st National. But as he looked up into his father’s eyes—as much his father as his flesh and blood relation—he knew he couldn’t. Lying always blew up in his face. 

“Joe…there’s something I have to tell you.” 

Joe was unnaturally calm as Barry finished explaining about Len. That was never a good sign. 

“And you left Cisco and Caitlin alone with him,” Joe stated more than asked. 

“Only because I’m sure—”

“You must believe him if you were willing to risk that, Barry,” Joe broke in. “So let’s assume he’s telling the truth right now. What happens when he remembers? What if he remembers while you’re here, and doesn’t care how much the three of you have been trying to help him?”

Why did everyone keep saying that? It made Barry’s gut clench, and he felt heat and anger rise to the surface. “I’m being careful, Joe. We’re being careful. It wouldn’t serve Cold any good to hurt Cisco or Caitlin now. If he remembers, he’ll owe us, and he’ll honor that, even if the next time he decides to throw it in our faces. But he wouldn’t hurt them. He doesn’t hurt people without a reason.”

Joe tilted his head incredulously at Barry and crossed his arms. Barry hated that look more than any other, the ‘you should know better’, ‘what kind of fool did I raise’ glower. “You’re defending Snart now? An innocent man, with no memories of his crimes, maybe that’s one thing, Barry, but Snart himself, the one you’re so sure has some sense of honor when it comes to you, is a murderer. He’s proven he has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way.”

“He promised me—”

“And he’s broken his promises!” Joe erupted, arms flying back to his sides. “He let all of those dangerous people with powers go right from under you because it was fun for him. That is not someone you trust, Barry. That is not someone you forgive.”

Barry stood, no longer feeling like being towered over for this conversation. He faced Joe dead-on. “You always taught me you should be willing to forgive anybody. Even when you thought my dad was the one who killed my mother, you still told me I should forgive him.”

Joe’s eyes filled with sympathy—but no, not sympathy. Pity. “Because that’s what you say to a kid, Barry, when you don’t want to crush him for still loving a father who doesn’t deserve it. Now I am so glad I was wrong, and that your father always was the good man you believed him to be, but if it hadn’t turned out that way…I can tell you, I wouldn’t have ever been able to forgive him for doing that to you and your mother, any more than I can forgive Wells—Thawne—for being the real killer. Some things you don’t forgive.” 

“You don’t believe that,” Barry snapped, clenching his fists to stay his anger. 

“So you’re saying you could forgive Thawne?”

That wasn’t fair, but as much as it pushed Barry’s anger to the limit at first, he understood why Joe had to say that. It was always easier to forgive someone when you were removed from the situation. But what about the families of the people Cold had killed? Barry had to think like them. 

And it wasn’t easy. 

“I don’t know,” he conceded, his fists relaxing out of their tight hold, “but even after everything, a part of me did still care for Wells. Sometimes, I couldn’t shake that, even when I wanted to hate him. Maybe I could forgive him. I have to believe it’s possible, Joe, just like I have to believe that deep down you feel the same. I have to, or what the hell am I doing going out there pretending I’m a hero." He softened, adding, “The kind of hero you’ve always been for me.” 

The remaining fight drained right out of Joe, looking at Barry the way he did only when Barry really surprised him—usually because he couldn’t believe how proud he was of him, or so he said. At least, that’s what Barry hoped the expression meant right now. Joe would always be one of Barry’s first superheroes, right along with his real father. 

Joe looked away. “We’re talking in hypotheticals, Barry,” he said softly. “There is a chance that Snart will never remember. If that’s the case…things could be different. But if he does, no matter how much you want to have faith in him, you can’t predict how he’ll react, what he’ll be thinking, what he’ll do. I don’t want you setting yourself up to get hurt.”

“I know that,” Barry looked at Joe pleadingly, “I just need you to trust me on this. Until we can be sure what’ll happen, I’ll keep a close eye on things, stay at the lab with him to make sure nothing gets out of hand. When I can’t be there, I’ll make sure we have precautions in place. Right now, even if he did remember and decided to do something, he’s too hurt to pull it off, trust me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Joe said evenly, “but I’m going to have to see for myself before I feel okay about this.”

“See…Len?” Barry’s eyes sprang wide.

“Yes. I’m coming back with you to S.T.A.R. Labs.”

XXXXX

Barry was trying not to hyperventilate. All things considered, his conversation with Joe had gone well concerning Len. Of course now, in about five minutes, once Joe was finished with his work on the case, they’d be heading back to S.T.A.R. Labs together.

He texted Caitlin, who he figured could keep the most level head about things, and asked her not to tell the others about Joe coming back with him. Barry didn’t want Len worrying before there was anything to worry about. 

Caitlin seemed confident in their progress with Len so far. Everything had been going fine with him while Barry was out. They were making sure he rested, getting their own work done, and also asking questions and giving him tasks where appropriate to see how much he did remember, and how likely it was that he’d remember more in the future. Everything was fine for now. 

For now…

“Hey, Barry,” a pleasant voice broke into his reverie as he stood leaning back on Joe’s desk with his cell phone out, finishing his last text to Caitlin. 

He looked up to see Iris, smile bright and beautiful as always, approaching him with Eddie at her side. Despite everything they had been through lately, while Iris’ smile could sometimes look strained, Eddie’s never did. He always treated Barry like he understood and could forgive him anything, even the selfish idiot he’d been at times when it came to Iris. It really made it impossible to hate the guy, or disapprove of him in any way, and Barry had said as much to Joe when he told him to please, please give Eddie his blessing to propose. It seemed they were going to take things slow for a while anyway, maybe not jump right to where they’d left off, but Barry honestly hoped they made it back there. 

He pushed his apprehensions aside as he smiled at them. “Hey, guys. I’m just waiting on Joe with this case before we head back to S.T.A.R. Labs. Guess you got called in too,” he said to Eddie. 

"Hazard of the job," Eddie answered brightly. "Hasn’t taken too much time out of our day. We were about to head out for lunch. We can’t convince you and Joe to join us before you get back to work on your…side project?" 

At least they couldn’t openly talk about Flash related things at the station, so Barry didn’t have to worry about mentioning Len; they’d both just assume it was Flash business in some capacity and that if they were needed, they’d be informed. 

“Sorry, no, I think Joe’s a little anxious on this one. Nothing serious,” Barry added honestly—at least he hoped that was an honest statement. “Just something to check up on. I’m kind of hoping things will be slow for a while.” He grinned at the slight pun. With Reverse Flash gone and Captain Cold out of commission, that might even be possible. Until the next crisis arose.

“Maybe dinner sometime this week then?” Iris suggested. “It’s been a while.”

A while...since they all got together for something that wasn’t a tragedy. Well, aside from Caitlin’s wedding, but that had been a little rushed. 

“Absolutely,” Barry said. 

Iris grinned at his genuine enthusiasm; she could always tell when he was faking it. “Great. I’m just going to run to the ladies room before we head out.” She turned to Eddie. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie beamed at Barry as she walked away, and a sense of inevitable calm filled Barry’s chest. He didn’t feel the old pang he used to when thinking of Iris as unattainable, or being alone with Eddie, the man who had won her heart. It was all out of his hands now, and he was starting to think that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asked, open concern in his eyes as he reached out to grip Barry’s arm, ever the physical comforter, so easygoing and heartfelt. 

Barry let his emotions bleed plainly onto his face, a shade of guilt mixed with the affection he had for his friend, and just how good of a man he was, how much he really did deserve Iris. Barry had never imagined he’d think that of anyone. 

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” he blurted. 

“Sorry?” Eddie’s smile returned but wavered, not understanding. “For what?”

“For being such a jerk.”

“Barry, you may be a lot of things, but—” 

“You know what I mean, Eddie.”

And the way Eddie’s smile fell the rest of the way into a look of sorrow proved he did. “Barry…you know I’d never fault you for having feelings for Iris. I know firsthand how easy it is to love her. I understand wanting to fight for that. Sometimes I really can’t believe how good of a guy you are, being willing to let her go.”

“But you’re that same guy,” Barry insisted. “You were willing to give her up, thinking it was the right thing, because of what Wells told you of the future…but the truth is, it really doesn’t matter what he changed about the past, or how that may have altered things. I used to think I missed my chance with her, that if only it hadn’t been for the accident, the coma, if only she hadn’t met you, we would have ended up together, and maybe we would have. But she knows that. She knows it could have gone either way. The difference is, even if she does have some feelings for me…she chose you. She chose you, Eddie, not me. She loves you. 

“All I’ve ever wanted was for her to be happy. And I can’t imagine anyone more suited to ensure that. Believe me, I hated every boyfriend she ever had before you.” Barry forced his somber, serious face into a bright grin. He meant every word, after all.

Eddie had that look like he might hug Barry, and Barry supposed he wouldn’t mind, but at the same time it was a relief when Eddie held back and kept things more controlled in the middle of the police station. He squeezed Barry's shoulder again instead. “Thank you, Barry. That really means a lot. I never want things to be so weird between us that we can’t still be friends.”

“You definitely never have to worry about that,” Barry assured him.

“And hey,” Eddie brightened again, “if things turned out this way for us, then that has to mean there is someone even better suited for you out there than you could ever have imagined for yourself. You’re a good guy, Barry. You deserve someone amazing.” 

“Yeah…” Barry trailed wistfully thinking of that, of someone out there who could mean as much to him as Iris had, but who could finally be wholly his. 

Len laughing, carefree and missing any of the sinister tone Barry was used to from Captain Cold, flashed through his mind—how easy it had been last night, just the two of them, talking...

Barry shook his head as he offered another companionable smile to Eddie. He had been friends with Len for less than a day. They had weird history, several years between them, and lived lives on complete opposite ends of the law. Not to mention that it wasn’t at all ethical to seduce someone who didn’t remember their own name. It was insane to entertain ideas of romance sprouting there, much as Barry had been enjoying the teasing innuendos and flirting. Attraction was a given, at least Barry assumed it was a given for Len as much as it was for him by the looks he’d caught Len giving him, but that had to be where it ended. 

But then Barry had never been able to control who he fell for, and he always fell hard, in a whirlwind of tripping over his own feet right into the abyss.

Shit.

XXXXX

Len had been stunned when Cisco first asked him to look at the cold gun. It was a weapon, a dangerous one, the very tool Captain Cold used against people. Surely, they didn’t want him suddenly remembering who he was while wielding it. He assumed it was meant to be a test, to see what he would do. Cisco wasn’t being short with him or distrustful of him in any open way anymore; but there was always that challenge, that look of scientific gauging like he was halfway between fascinated and ready to defend himself. 

Len had been staring at the gun for a couple minutes now, not sure what he was supposed to do with it. There he was, freshly showered, teeth clean from an extra toothbrush they’d scrounged for him from somewhere, his sweats from the previous night back on, and in his same black socks, padding around the main labs like it wasn’t strange at all. 

He’d rested for some time before Barry left, and a while after, but he’d grown antsy, swore he felt well enough to get a little exercise, and that he wouldn’t get in their way, when Cisco had asked him over. 

Now he stood, staring, wondering if merely looking at the damn thing would spark any recognition. It didn’t look familiar as a whole, so he focused on the parts, on the trigger, on the way it was shaped, the length of the barrel, how it curved…

One hundred and nineteen seconds. 

“What was that?” Cisco asked.

Had Len said that out loud? “One hundred and nineteen seconds,” Len said again, purposely this time, and as he said it, he remembered what that timeframe referred to. “I can take this gun apart in under two minutes, and put it back together even faster.”

Caitlin sat at one of the monitors nearby, and immediately ceased typing. The sudden silence made Len look up from the gun. He glanced at her, then at Cisco. 

“I…just remembered that,” he said, feeling like he needed to back up, back away. “I don’t…”

“Show us,” Cisco said. He still looked caught between curious and terrified, but that didn't seem to deter him.

"Cisco..." Caitlin warned.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Len said. He felt this faint buzzing when he looked at the gun now. "I know you think that, if I remember everything, I'll go back to being the way I was before. I don’t want—"

"Part of me thinks that, sure,” Cisco interrupted. “The other part wonders if will could actually be stronger than memory. You say you don’t want to be Captain Cold again. Maybe your will could make that true even if you do remember your past."

Len wasn’t so sure about that. He looked at Caitlin again, who now seemed to share Cisco's curious expression. 

"Well...” she said gaugingly, “controlled responses to recover your memories might make it happen gradual enough that you'd remember how you feel right now just as much as you remember the past. Could be a calculable difference."

She didn't sound convinced enough for Len to fully agree. Must be something about scientists, he thought. If they weren’t willing to test things that often scared them, they’d never accomplish anything. 

Len didn’t share their faith or lust for experimentation, but then again…maybe he owed it to himself to see if they were right. If he was doomed to remember anyway, wouldn’t it be better to have some control over how and when it happened?

He looked at the gun once more then raised an eyebrow at Cisco, resolute. “Time me.”

Cisco pulled his cell phone out with an eager grin that Len was pretty sure got the kid in trouble way more than he'd ever admit.

Len didn’t stop to think. As soon as Cisco said ‘go’, he grabbed the gun and he just knew—he knew which pieces came apart first, the sequence, how to check that the very specialized safety was on, that the chemicals inside that made the gun what it was didn’t leak—every single step like clockwork. 

When Len finished and the gun lay in pieces on the table, Cisco looked at his phone with a slight frown. “Two minutes, three seconds.”

Len scowled. “Well, I did hit my head. Back together?” he prompted. 

Cisco nodded at him, the excited smile filling his entire face. 

This time it was even easier, and Len marveled a little at his own speed—nothing like Barry’s, of course, but still impressive. 

“One minute, forty-two seconds,” Cisco announced. “Holy crap.”

Len picked up the reassembled gun and charged it. 

Cisco scrambled back, nearly dropping his phone, while Caitlin bolted up from her chair. 

“Sorry!” Len said hurriedly, powering it down and placing the gun back on the table next to his—to Captain Cold’s—parka and gear. It had been instinct; he hadn’t meant to charge the gun. 

He backed away from it toward Caitlin, feeling a tightness in his chest worse than any of the anxiety he’d felt so far. Suddenly, his head pounded, but it was too early for more meds. 

“Len?” Caitlin’s voice sounded far away, even though she should only be a couple feet behind him. 

Len thought he felt her hand on his arm, but the room was starting to spin. He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air, fighting the speckles of darkness creeping in on his vision. 

“Len!”

The next thing Len knew he was on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest while he gulped in ragged breaths, his back leaned against…against Caitlin, who had an arm crossed over in front of his chest to hold him still, while Cisco knelt at his left, a hand on his knee. Their cumulative presence was so instantly soothing, Len coughed as a rush of air finally made it into his lungs. He felt like he might pass out, but their hands and a chorus of soothing words brought his vision back into focus. 

“S-Sorry…” he said again. 

“Dude, you just had a panic-attack,” Cisco informed him, like it was something miraculous. “You do not need to apologize.” 

“Maybe that was too much stimuli too fast,” Caitlin offered. She was remarkably strong for such a willowy woman, her grip finally loosening as she pulled her arm back, and simply knelt there behind him, almost cradling him against her. It didn’t feel as unfamiliar as Len thought it should, having someone there, comforting him. 

It made him think of Lisa. He wanted to remember more than her smile, more than her gestures and presence. He wanted to recall her face, her whole form. Yet at the same time, it terrified him that he might succeed if he tried too hard to conjure her, and everything else would come flooding back with it. He might pick up that gun and use it on these people, these victims of his that were holding him between them so selflessly. He never, ever wanted that to happen. 

He pushed Lisa from his mind. It wasn’t safe. He wasn't safe...

“S-So…what do you think I should do with myself if I never remember?” he asked, forcing his voice to be steady so he could say that with a slight edge of humor; he didn’t want them to know how much it scared him to think of the opposite happening, though they obviously shared his concerns.

“You could stay here,” Caitlin said, as Len shifted into a more normal sitting position, and suddenly they were three grown people on the floor, Len and Cisco cross-legged, while Caitlin sat with her legs tucked to the side in her grey dress.

"Stay?"

“Sure. You could help us,” Cisco said with a leading shrug that seemed to rejuvenate him the more he thought on it. “Totally, yeah! You actually being on our side would be seriously amazing. You don't have to remember everything to still be badass in a fight. You’re also annoyingly cunning and observant—like, extremely annoying at those things,” he said like an accusation, but didn’t pause to dwell. “And if you still have that thrill seeking, next big score urge, well…there is no greater challenge and privilege than helping The Flash save people.”

Caitlin chuckled in agreement. “I know I couldn’t imagine doing anything else now. But Len,” she added more seriously, “if you do remember everything and you still want to stay with us…you can, you know? I know that might sound strange coming from us after what you heard of our…history together, but we wouldn’t punish you for remembering or turn you away if you wanted to stay and make up for the past—including the things you did to us.”

“Well, ideally you wouldn’t stay, stay, like live here,” Cisco gestured to the labs around them, “because, seriously, we can do better for you than here. But you know…what she said,” he smiled encouragingly. “Barry is a terrible influence, and he’s right. If we’re the good guys, than we should be willing to help anyone, even an amnesiac or a repentant villain.”

Len stared at them in amazement, but quickly felt a frown pulling at his lips. The problem was, he didn’t know if he would be repentant if he remembered. Their faith in him, that he could be led to his memories safely, was clearly misplaced, too much of a risk. He might far more easily scoff in distaste at the whole thing, looking back on this conversation, huddled on the floor with these two kind people who were giving him more of a chance than he deserved. 

But even if he doubted himself, their willingness to forgive him overwhelmed him, and he didn’t know what to say. He only managed a small, choked, “Thank you,” before he realized how silly it was for them to still be on the floor. He could breathe fine now, he was fine. He had to be. 

He made to stand, but the pair at either side of him beat him to it, offering helping hands. Barry was a terrible influence indeed, but Len didn’t think that was the only reason Cisco and Caitlin were so kind. They were just good people at their cores. Like he wanted to be. 

“I’m sorry I asked you to look at the gun,” Cisco said with drooping eyes. “I was just curious what would happen. Sense memory is the easiest to trigger, so I thought…”

“No…it’s okay,” Len said. “Sense memory I can handle. We just have to be careful next time.”

Besides, Len sort of liked what Cisco had said about The Flash being his next big score—in so many words. As long as he didn’t remember too much, it could be okay. He couldn’t deny that a thrill ran through him thinking of seeing The Flash in action. To be at his side, helping instead of hurting, as the brand new man he was starting to become…that sounded like a marvelous idea. 

And then there he was—The Flash, Barry—striding into the labs, back from his time away at the CCPD. 

Len brightened instantly. No, he wouldn’t mind Barry being his next big score at all. 

But something was wrong. Barry looked hunched, his expression tight and constrained, and Len’s happier thoughts were blow away by the sight of a man with a badge coming in after him. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole panic attack thing was not planned AT ALL. It was going to be lighter, happier, remembering while still not, being impressed with himself, etc., and then Len picked the damn thing up again and I had no control over what happened next. He's really intent on making this angstier than I originally intended. I am not entirely sure how the next part will go, but it will sure as hell be interesting. ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len feels the walls starting to crumble keeping his memories back. Barry wants nothing more than to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me so much trouble for some reason, but I finally got through it and to the end scene, which is entirely Anim3Fan4Ever's fault for unintentionally inspiring it. I already can't wait for the next part. ;-) Thank you, kindly.

Len stiffened at the sight of the large man entering behind Barry, who might have appeared casually dressed with the black beanie pulled tight over his head, just an acquaintance of Barry’s, no one to fear…if not for the detective's badge hanging from his neck, and the stern, challenging disposition.

Len looked to Barry, eyes wide, pulse thrumming. How could he...?

Almost immediately, Barry's expression snapped to panicked, and just as Len started to backpedal, Barry flashed forward, suddenly in front of him, gripping his elbows. "No! Len, it’s not what you think! This is my dad!" he exclaimed. "Remember? I mean…I told you about him. I ran into him at the station. He was just worried and wanted to check in on you himself.”

Len was shaking imperceptibly, only aware of it himself because Barry looked down at his arms awash in sympathy as he felt the tremor under his palms. 

Barry hadn't turned him in, of course he hadn't. Len had to calm down.

"You just startled him, I think," came Caitlin's voice, soft and understanding. "When you came in we were…umm…recovering from a little episode." 

"Episode?" A new voice—direct, distrusting. Joe.

"Not a big deal!" Cisco broke in, entirely failing at sounding unfazed. "He was just holding the cold gun and—"

"Why was he holding the cold gun?" Joe's voice turned sharper. 

Len risked a glance over Barry's shoulder and he could see the tension in the detective's stance, the way his hand hovered near his gun, ready to draw it. The sight was achingly familiar, the way someone looked when they were like that, poised and ready to attack.

Len pulled away from Barry; he didn't mean to, but he couldn't...he couldn't breathe again. He backed away...

"Len?" 

...right into Caitlin. 

He whipped around to face her, and she smiled at him, completely composed. 

She took his hands gently in her own. "You’re still on the edges of the panic attack, okay?" 

"Panic attack?" That was Barry, deep concern coloring his voice.

"I need you to take some slow, deep breaths for me," Caitlin went on, looking only at him, right into his eyes unblinking, which was remarkably calming. "Everything’s all right. You’re okay. Everything will be fine." It sounded rehearsed, like she had done this for someone else before.

The eye contact, the steady tones of her voice, made it easy to listen, to just breathe, as she rubbed soothing circles with her thumbs over the pulse points at his wrists. This felt familiar too, a memory from long ago of a small voice speaking similar words of comfort to him—that everything would be okay, he was okay, he was safe, but he was supposed to be the one saying those things, wasn't he?

"The cold gun was my fault," Cisco spoke up, distantly in the background. "I asked him to look at it. He just took it apart and put it back together again, then…sort of freaked himself out. He didn’t mean any harm, Joe, honest."

A tentative hand slid around the curve of Len's shoulder. He knew before he pulled gratefully from Caitlin's hold that it was Barry. 

Len spoke as he turned. "I’m sorry." He wasn't sure what he was sorry for this time, but there had to be something; for doubting Barry in that moment? He was definitely sorry for that.

But of course Barry merely smiled. "You really need to stop apologizing so much, Len."

Releasing another slow breath, Len found himself smiling back at the kid. The moment couldn't last forever though. He looked around Barry once again, forcing himself to meet the detective's fierce gaze. Joe didn't look too convinced or at all trusting.

"Len…this is my dad, Joe West," Barry introduced, slipping the hand on Len’s shoulder down to the edge of his waist in support as they turned toward Joe.

"Detective West," Joe corrected determinedly, keeping his eyes trained on Len as he approached.

Len heard Barry make a small noise of frustration, but steeled himself. He almost made to hold out a hand toward Joe in introduction then thought better of it with the way the man was glowering at him.

"Detective," Len said softly instead.

Joe stared him down a moment before shifting his gaze to Barry. "Barry, I’d like to speak with Snart alone for a few minutes."

The way Barry’s eyes shot open did not comfort Len in the slightest. 

“Just for a few minutes,” Joe reiterated. He sounded patient but still firm as he spoke to Barry. Len didn’t feel any of that patience afforded him when Joe met his gaze again. 

Barry looked to Len despondently, apologizing silently for having no control over this—he wouldn’t, couldn’t refuse his father. Len had heard easily in the way Barry talked about Joe how much this man really was just as much Barry’s father as the one wrongly incarcerated. 

Allowing himself to panic again wouldn’t get them anywhere; Len had to prove to Joe that he was being honest, that he really didn’t remember anything, and since that was nothing but the truth, he had nothing to worry about…

He mustered a smile for Barry. “It’s okay. He has a right to be concerned. We can go to the lounge.” He turned back to Joe and gestured weakly out of the room.

Joe mirrored the gesture back at him, indicating for Len to go first. Len tried not to look at Barry, or Cisco and Caitlin as he made his way from the room, afraid they’d see the fear in his eyes. He felt a bit like a man walking to the gallows with Joe West at his back. It was like that awful ‘someone’s watching you’ sensation but tenfold, which maybe was more like ‘someone’s hating you and plotting your demise’. 

When they were far enough away from the others, Len figured it would serve him better if he got ahead of the conversation. 

“Detective…I’ve been through some of this with Cisco and Caitlin. They had a tough time trusting me at first too. They’ve told me some of the things I’ve done, things I've done to them…so I understand this is hard to believe, but I really don’t remember—”

“I believe you, Snart.”

“You do?” Len made to turn around as they entered the lounge, right around the corner that partially blocked them from a clear view to Barry and the others in the main labs. 

Before Len could fully pivot to look at Joe, he felt strong hands grab the front of his sweatshirt and slam him roughly into the wall. He was lucky his wounded head didn’t snap back in the process, as his feet lifted from the floor. 

“Hey, what—” 

“You think I give two shits who you are right now?” Joe seethed out an angry, low growl, quiet so as not to alert the others. His angry face snarled mere inches from Len’s own. 

For a split second, Len felt the panic again, the loss of breath, the darkness closing in on him, but then there was a different darkness. The strange buzzing that had seemed to accompany this before, that had rang in his ears when looking at the cold gun, crept up louder. He pushed back against Joe, who managed to hold him in place, but might not have if Len was at full strength. 

Len had an insatiable urge to rip the detective’s scowl from his face for daring to touch him. 

He gasped as that feeling flared hotly in his chest and then…subsided, and as it waned, he pushed and pushed to get it as far away as possible from the forefront of his mind. 

“I don’t care who you are right now, Snart,” Joe said again. “I care who you really are, who you’ll be again, and I swear, if you use this against Barry when you wake up and remember, if you think you can turn this situation to your advantage and hurt him…”

“I'd never—” Len bit back his retort before he could finish it, seeing in Joe’s eyes that it was the wrong thing to say. 

Of course Joe wouldn’t believe him. How could he, after everything Len had learned about Captain Cold, and with the furious feelings that had even just now stirred in his gut? So he tried again. 

“I’d never hurt him on purpose,” he said. “Not the man I am now, and I know that isn’t enough for you, but…even as Cold, for whatever reason, Barry doesn’t believe I'd hurt him either. He kept insisting when I woke up that what happened to make me like this was an accident, that I hadn’t meant to hurt him when the building came down. That I saved him…” He’d done that much as Captain Cold, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

“Yeah…Barry mentioned that,” Joe said like a threat, though he loosened his hold enough for Len’s sock-clad feet to settle on the floor. 

Len huffed out another shaky breath. “I don’t know if Barry’s right about Captain Cold, detective, I really don't. The kid has so much faith in me I know I don’t deserve…but I promise I will do everything in my power to keep him safe from me.” 

Everything in my power to not remember who I was, Len thought in that same breath, because it wasn’t enough that Cold had saved Barry, even if Len was using it as a way to appeal to Joe. He could only speak for himself now, and what he felt was an overwhelming urge to keep a smile on that dopey kid’s face, not those downturned eyebrows. Captain Cold could never feel that way… 

A rush of air left Joe as he stepped back, as if he had been holding his breath too. He let his fingers uncurl from Len’s sweatshirt slowly, and Len knew part of the man wanted to slam him back into the wall again. But then this sorrow filled him, this powerful, deep remorse that Len couldn’t imagine was because of him—but because of Barry. 

“I believe you don’t remember. You couldn’t fake…this.” He eyed Len like it was some awful sentence he’d just dropped. Then his face hardened. “You want to do good by me? By Barry?”

Len let himself sag against the wall. He nodded. 

“Then honor what you just said. Because if you remember, and you do anything to hurt that boy, I swear I will hunt you down, and there will be a line out the precinct door willing to help me make what happens to you look like an accident.”

Tension rippled over Len’s shoulders at the threat. He didn’t doubt that, or Joe’s conviction to follow through with it. He nodded again. 

“Good,” Joe said. “Now get a hold of yourself, because when we get back in there, I want Barry thinking everything’s square between us.” He eyed Len up and down with something that might have been skepticism mixed with the faintest traces of hope. “You keep your promise…maybe one day it really will be.”

XXXXX

Barry felt like his heart was going to flash-speed right out of his chest after hearing about Len’s initial panic attack from Cisco and Caitlin. If he’d known something like that could happen, he never would have left for the precinct, screw the consequences. 

It might have just been memories associated with the gun, but then Joe, and the fear that Barry had betrayed him, had nearly triggered an attack all over again. 

"He probably has some post-traumatic stress he’s dealing with," Caitlin said.

"From what?" Barry questioned. 

The others looked at him incredulously until Cisco finally said, "Pick something."

Right, of course. He'd had a serious head injury, lost his memories, and hadn't exactly had an easy road to recovery so far. Not to mention there was so much about Len that Barry didn't know, past traumas he could never guess that might be just out of Len's memory, bleeding in from the edges. Like Len’s father...

"I’ve been dealing with a little of this from Ronnie," Caitlin admitted. 

Barry and Cisco looked over at her in surprise; she hadn't said anything about that before now, but it explained how she'd known what to do when Len started to panic again. 

"It doesn’t happen often," she assured them, "but when it does, you just have to keep them calm, remind them that they’re safe, offer some soothing contact. I didn't want you guys to worry, but with what Ronnie’s been through, anyone would need time to recover. And it's the same for Len. He's going to have a lot to work through."

And Joe was probably only adding to that, Barry thought with a frown. But as he did, glancing toward the lounge for the hundredth time—he hated that he couldn't see them from this vantage point—they appeared from around the corner, Len once again in the lead. 

He looked...resolute? Definitely determined about something. He nodded at Barry and pulled on a valiant smile.

Joe looked to Barry as the pair came up to them. "I assume you're staying here the rest of the day?"

"Ugh...well I should stop home at some point, get some changes of clothes for me and Len, maybe some groceries for this place, but..." he looked at Len in support, "...I can stay as long as you need me. I was just gone, so..."

"Go home with your dad, Barry," Len said. "I'll be fine. Get whatever you need. I'm..." his gaze shifted none so subtly at Joe then back again, "I'm not feeling so hot again, so I was thinking of taking a nap."

Cisco snickered, and it irritated Barry at first, because he didn’t think Joe getting inside Len’s head like this was at all funny, until he realized the chuckle was because Len had said he wasn't feeling so 'hot'. Apparently he walked into puns unintentionally too.

"We'll make sure he eats some lunch first, okay?" Caitlin offered, and Len nodded that he'd go along with that.

"Okay..." Barry said, glancing at Joe who looked at him expectantly and maybe a little relieved that they'd be leaving together. "But I'm staying the night here again," he said defiantly, "so I'll be back soon. I promise." He focused on Len at that, on his ice blue eyes that crinkled in a way they never did as Captain Cold. The expression wasn’t as controlled as Cold would have made it, just bare and hopeful. 

But there was something else there now, something dark and sad and doubting. A part of Len had shifted, and Barry knew it was his fault, for leaving him, for bringing Joe, for everything.

"I'll be back," he said again, clinging to the thought that he could fix this, and followed Joe out of the lab.

XXXXX

Barry planned to be back at S.T.A.R. Labs in record time, but before he knew it, hours had passed. How time could still elude the fastest man alive, he’d never know. 

Sure, there were some things about normal life he had to take care of, like bills ready for Monday's mail, groceries—some things to stay at home, other things to bring to the lab—then clothes and other essentials so he could go straight to work in the morning, not to mention things for Len. Several movies and a deck of cards were added to his pile. Len was going to get bored fast once he was fully recovered and no longer sleeping part of the day away. Barry needed his suitcase for it all.

Once he had everything squared away, he planned to grab some takeout for dinner on his way back. Len had had it rough; he deserved Thai food. Barry wanted to hit up his favorite restaurant for red and green curry. He hoped Len liked Thai. Was it possible to not like Thai? he wondered. 

"Barry?"

Barry was at the door, staring at his closed suitcase, running through a list in his head of everything he'd packed to make sure it would be enough. He looked back at Joe, who stood with his arms crossed in the doorway to the kitchen. Joe's face was drawn, almost pinched with worry.

"I'll be fine. I already spent the night with him once." Barry fought the cringe that crept up as he said that, realizing his poor choice of words.

At least Joe didn't seem to notice, not that he looked accepting of the situation either. "Just be careful, Barry. Don't make it easy for him to prove you wrong."

"We'll prove _you_ wrong, Joe, you'll see," Barry said with a bright, confident—he had to be confident—smile, as he hefted the suitcase. "I'll see you tomorrow."

XXXXX

Barry made it back with his full suitcase and several bags of family sized takeout just in time to say goodbye to the others. They'd waited for him, but were ready to head home for the night and maybe enjoy the last of their supposed weekends.

"Unless you need us to stay?" Caitlin asked. "Because we can, Barry, you just say the word. Len's still napping, but you should probably wake him soon or he won't be able to get any sleep tonight. He’s been out since you left.”

“You guys go home,” Barry shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough. I know today has been crazy. I’ll be fine. And after Len’s feeling better, I’m sure there will be plenty of time for us to all hang out together,” he grinned.

Cisco laughed openly, this pleased but also completely flabbergasted expression on his face. “I never thought I’d wish for the chance to hang with Captain Cold. I don’t know what it is about him, you know? He’s just so…real, like this. Not like the whole Cold persona. It’s a little too easy to like him. I wonder if Lisa’s ever like this…” he trailed.

Caitlin snorted. “Real? Or too easy to like? Because I think the second part has already worked wonders on you,” she teased. “But don’t fantasize too much. For all we know, she’s not going to be a fan of this change.” She turned back to Barry with worry creasing her brow. “See you in the morning, Barry. We’ll try and get here early enough so Len isn’t alone when you head to work.”

Cisco nodded in agreement, while shooting Caitlin a glare for her Lisa comments. 

Barry couldn’t really fault Caitlin for the tease, even if it was tinged with actual concern. He understood that both Snarts had this strange charm about them, even when they were being insufferable. But if Len could be like this deep down—patient, and caring, and compassionate—maybe Lisa wasn’t so different. 

After leaving the takeout on the counter, Barry headed into the lounge with the suitcase. It was too early for dinner, but if he put the food in the fridge, it would get cold. Or was that flawed logic if he’d have to reheat it anyway? He figured it probably was, but was more concerned with waking Len. 

The lights in the lounge were off. Barry often forgot where the individual controls were, since he was used to everything being on when he was at the labs, but he found the panel of switches on the wall and slowly brought the lights up. Len was curled on the couch, on his side again, to give his stiches some breathing room. He looked restless, snuggled into the blanket, not too deeply asleep. Once the lights were fully up, he stirred. 

“Sorry,” Barry said as he moved to the couch and peered over at Len with his arms resting on the back. “Caitlin said I should wake you. You’ve been out for hours, and you’ll want to eat again soon. I brought Thai food.”

“I love Thai,” Len mumbled groggily. 

Barry wasn’t sure if he should be ecstatic that Len actually liked the food he’d brought, or terrified that he kept seeming to remember things. But that was silly. It was good for Len to remember. Barry couldn’t just will Captain Cold away; he wanted Len to be himself and just…still want to be a good person. He didn’t think that was too extravagant a desire given how Len was acting lately. 

Barry moved around the sofa so he could sit in his usual spot, on the end, near the chaise side. He parked the suitcase by the coffee table. By now, Len was stretching more fully awake. He looked so happy for a moment, until—and Barry could only guess at what was happening—Len remembered everything that had happened during the day and slowly lost his mirth. He tried to keep his smile for Barry’s sake, but soon he was just a hunched figure sitting up at the end of the sofa, looking at Barry like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

“Do you want to talk about the panic attack?” Barry asked.

Len hunched in on himself further. 

“Caitlin thinks there might be something there, and”—Barry really didn’t want to repeat the phrase ‘post-traumatic stress’ to Len—“maybe I can help. If you want to talk about it? How it made you feel?” 

“I’d rather not,” Len said shortly. 

Even Captain Cold wasn’t one for short answers. It made Barry frown and sit up on the edge of his seat as he looked down the sofa at Len. “But it really scared you. They told me what happened, because of the cold gun, right? What was it about the gun? What did it feel like before you started to lose focus?”

A deep scowl painted Len’s face. He tossed the blanket from his lap and whirled around to plant his feet on the floor and stand up. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter, Barry. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have touched that thing. It just made me feel…” He trailed, shaking his head with a brief grimace and then a look like he might be sick all over the floor. “I don’t like the way it made me feel. I should stay away from it.”

Barry knew there was something he was missing, but he felt like Len was trying to run away from this, and that couldn’t be good, even if he thought he was running from something legitimately frightening. 

Captain Cold didn’t have to be frightening, not if Len wanted something more for himself. The man had saved Barry’s life, despite having committed a crime to get his attention. 

Barry stood, and crossed the narrow space between the sofa and coffee table to get closer to Len. “I won’t ask you to tell me what Joe said to you, I can imagine. But I don’t want you thinking you’re not…allowed to remember who you are in order to be happy. If you can be like this now, you can be like this as the whole you too.”

“No, I can’t,” Len said sharply, and it felt like instinct, like he hadn’t meant to say it but it had slipped from his mouth anyway. His eyes went wide. “I…I don’t want to remember, Barry. Remembering is filled with this awful buzzing and anger. I almost…” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “It would be better if I never remembered, don’t you understand that? Then I could be like this and I’d never have to worry about hurting you.” He started to back away, like he’d done earlier. 

Barry didn’t want him running from anything, especially not his true self. He reached out and grasped Len’s forearm, holding him in place at the edge of the sofa. “That’s not fair, Len. You’re not a good person by chance. You’re a good person because it’s who you are. If Captain Cold needs a little convincing of that, then remembering might be the only thing—”

“I don’t want to remember!” Len shouted, yanking his arm from Barry’s grasp. For a moment his face was filled with such fury, Barry could barely remember a time when even his nemesis had looked at him like that. Len pulled his arms in against his chest, backing away another step, and another. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t,” Barry assured him, following without fear, reaching for Len again—

“Stop it!” Len cried, and bolted forward, pushing with both hands until they connected with Barry’s chest and knocked him back. 

Barry stumbled, unprepared, unable to use his reflexes or speed to avoid the contact. Met with Len’s aggressive attack, he toppled and landed on the edge of the sofa cushions, only just catching himself so he didn’t bounce and tumble further onto the floor. 

Len looked down at him in horror. It didn’t matter that Barry was far from hurt; Len looked as if he thought this was as bad as burning him—or like he’d raised his cold gun and frozen Barry to the spot. He faltered back, and Barry saw the way Len sucked in air, hyperventilating as he lost his breath again. His hands came up and pressed to either side of his head like he was in the worst pain. 

“Len!” Barry flashed to his feet and over to Len in seconds. He didn’t care if Len tried to push him away; he grabbed hold of Len’s arms, firm but not too tight. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” he said softly, remembering from Caitlin. 

Len looked at Barry in agony, clawing at the short stands of his hair. “I keep…remembering things. But I don’t want to remember any more…”

“Len…” Barry said, pulling him in, even if it wasn’t the right thing, even if Len fought against him—he gathered Len into his arms and crushed him to his chest. 

A choked sob was Barry’s reply. It felt like something of a win, though, when Barry felt Len burrow his face into his shoulder. “I…” Len’s voice cracked, “…I remember feeling this way before…helpless, unable to breathe. He wouldn’t stop, he never stopped, but I…I had to protect Lisa. She was the only beautiful thing in my life, and he couldn’t have that, I wouldn’t let him have that,” his voice went gruff, darker. “It hurt, and I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t fight…not until I taught myself to be more like him.”

Barry felt a chill run through him as he held Len tighter. 

“He was hard, and he was cold. He wasn’t afraid of anything. I had to be like that to beat him. I had to harden myself. And I did. For Lisa. She needed me…but I needed her to be strong too. I couldn’t be hardened alone. We hardened together. We became what we had to be…until we were rid of him.”

The grip on Barry increased, almost painful for a moment, but then Len sank against him limply, and his sobs were audible as he pressed his face to Barry’s neck. The wet feel of warm tears was more than Barry would ever have needed to believe Len was a good guy in a bad situation. Like so many others in the world, he’d turned into what he had to in order to survive and protect the one he held most dear.

Len didn’t say anything more, not in that steady, angry tone. He only said, “I can’t…it’s too…too close, too much,” and he sniffed, and clung, and finished with, “I don’t want to remember the rest…”

“Okay,” Barry said. He wouldn’t force him, but part of him believed Len had to remember eventually, not because of any greater good or sense of fate, but because it was already happening, and they could only postpone the inevitable for so long. 

The other part of Barry, that cherished the feeling of Len against of him, of the sweet smiles and kind words, wanted to believe he could keep his new friend perfectly contained and safe forever. 

Eventually, Len’s tears dried, but when he tried to pull away, Barry backed them toward the sofa. He sat with Len—close—practically leaned into him, hands in his own lap but wanting to touch Len again, somehow, to keep comforting him, but he didn’t know how to do that without it seeming strange. So he just looked at Len, and tried to convey with his expression how much he wanted Len to be happy and at peace.

The way Len looked back at him made him think he’d succeeded. Len’s breaths were shaky as he said, “Tell me more about you, Barry. I don’t want to think about me. Tell me about you.” 

Barry didn’t know how much more there was to tell, but then he thought of his mother, and how, while vastly different, her death had made him feel much the same as how Len described feeling with his father. Terrified, angry, helpless, like there was nothing he could do. He told Len that, so he wouldn’t feel alone in the dark. There was plenty of darkness to go around, but it didn’t feel so bad with someone else there. 

That they sat on the sofa with the line of their thighs touching warmed Barry and only further convinced him that whatever happened, Len would always be Len. 

XXXXX

Len had been touched when Barry shared details about himself that were as painful as what Len himself had revealed. The kid shouldered too much for someone so young, so kind-hearted. It made Len relieved when, after Barry’s stomach rumbled and they remembered that takeout was waiting in the kitchen, they spread out the food on the coffee table and watched _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_. Something familiar in a different way, light and funny, was just what they needed. 

Len loved hearing the kid laugh. 

Barry started to doze first, and actually fell sleep on Len’s shoulder, sitting with his knees curled up to the side. Len could barely bring himself to move him, until his side and neck started to burn from the odd position to keep Barry from falling off his shoulder. He eventually helped Barry lie back, who barely stirred, only mumbled sleepily and content, until he was in the same spot he’d been in the night before. Len laid back, their legs crossing each other on the sofa. 

He was afraid to sleep, afraid of the dreams that might come after remembering so much more today. It was all wrapped up in emotion, and Lisa, and his childhood so far, but that could so easily change. As he lay there, he thought of the cold gun in the other room, and wanted to take it apart again, change it somehow so it could never ever be used to hurt someone again so badly that they never recovered. He wondered if he could…

Then he was out, drifting in calm quiet, thankful no dreams chased him, until he startled awake. He wasn’t sure if it had even been an hour since he fell asleep. Barry hadn’t moved. As Len sat up a little and looked down at him, he couldn’t help thinking that if they weren’t lying head to toe, he’d be hard-pressed not to kiss the kid. 

The sound of footsteps, of someone moving through the labs set him on high alert. He hadn’t woken up by accident. He thought of waking Barry, but feared he was hearing things and wanted to check for himself. Not just anyone could sneak into this place. 

Quietly, he slipped from the sofa, moving around it toward the entrance out to the labs. The noises were soft, subtle, the movement of someone searching, he thought, but there was definitely someone, unless he finally was losing his mind. 

He inched closer to the doorway against the wall, biding his time. Like so many other things from today, this felt familiar; the anticipation, the knowledge of just how swift or slow he needed to move to stay silent. When he bolted around the corner, he was ready, hands grabbing at the weapon he found on the stranger and pinning it back into the wall before they could act. 

“Hey!” a female voice hissed. “Lenny? What the hell are you doing?”

Len squinted through the darkness to get a better look at the person he had pinned. The long brown hair. Blue eyes so like his own. The angry twist to her features as she glared at him. “Lisa?”

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len deals with Lisa, and Barry gets the brunt of the aftermath.

That same buzzing roared in Len’s ears a moment—taking Lisa in, focusing through the dark on her features that he hadn’t been able to fully picture before now. Suddenly, here she was, and he felt both a sharp pain from the rumble of memories trying to break through and a heartfelt urge to hug her. 

He chose instead to step back as he dropped his arms from pinning her to the wall. His eyes drifted to her gun, like his in too many ways, and just as lethal.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, not wanting to risk waking Barry in the other room. 

“Duh,” she said, rolling her shoulders and straightening out her leather jacket, “what do ya think? Flash took you, Lenny. I wouldn’t have thought much of it, the kid doesn’t have it in him to rough you up, but then you stayed gone. You didn’t call. Not even to check on the haul I got from 1st National—and I’m keeping your share for that, by the way,” she rambled on impressively before narrowing her eyes at him. “What gives? What are you doing here? I was afraid Flash had snapped and stashed you in that pipeline of theirs.”

Len wracked his brain for memories of a 'pipeline'—right, Barry had told him it was where they had been keeping people with powers until recently. “Why would he put me in there? I don’t have any powers,” he said reflexively.

Lisa eyed him with palpable impatience. At least she was keeping her voice low. “You’re not answering my questions, Lenny. And what…what are you wearing?” She swept her critical gaze down the length of his S.T.A.R. Labs sweats.

The fact that he was talking to his criminal sister, who had no idea he was mostly a blank slate right now, finally registered. 

Len had a decision to make; he couldn’t stall forever. But if he told her the truth, what would she do? He had all of these vague ideas of how his little sister used to be, what she meant to him, what he was willing to do for her, but no returned memories of what adult Lisa was like. What if she tried to force him to leave? They committed crimes together on a good day, had faced off against The Flash—together. What if she tried to hurt Barry…?

“Lenny?” she said again, and while her frustration remained, her eyebrows slanted in concern. He instantly wanted to hug her again, to just hold her for a while, tight and close…but he fitted his face into a sneer instead.

“I’m working an angle here, Lisa,” he hissed, trying to harness what Cold would sound like—sardonic, Cisco had said. He could do that. “The Flash is right in the other room. You want to blow my cover?”

A look of surprise, then annoyance, then elation flitted across Lisa’s face in that order. “Asleep? Is that why we’re whispering? Lenny…” her voice turned playful and she pushed half-heartedly at his chest with her free hand, “are you playing house? You’re just too cruel. Why wasn’t I invited? What’s the con? Willing prisoner? Or reformed thief?” 

How easily she believed him only gave Len another reason to dislike his alter ego. “He trusts me for now, that’s all that matters,” he said, using his disgust in himself to fuel his snide tone. “If I don’t get back on his good side after our recent betrayal,” he didn’t actually know the details around that other than it involved meta humans, “we’ll never be able to use him to our advantage again. But if he catches you here…” He raised an eyebrow pointedly.

She made to cross her arms, but still held her gun, so she clipped it to her jeans—a minor respite. “Fine, but I so deserve to be in on this. What were we just talking about the other day, Lenny? If you get to play with Flash, I get to play with Cisco. It’s only fair.” She batted her eyes at him—it felt especially familiar, something he remembered as what she used to flirt with others and almost equally to coerce him. 

The way his stomach flipped with guilt, wanting to keep her happy whatever the cost, was definitely remnants of big brother giving in to baby sister’s whims. Not this time. “No,” he said firmly, “I don’t want you,” hurting the poor kid’s feelings, “screwing this up for me. It’s too early to bring you in. They’ll catch on.”

Lisa eyed him skeptically, like he was keeping all his good toys to himself. She ducked around him suddenly and strode toward the lounge. “He in there?”

“Lisa!” Len spat an angry whisper, reaching for her hand. She was only teasing him, though, since she allowed herself to be caught.

She looked back at him with a knowing smirk. “Just how in disarray is the Scarlet Speedster, Lenny? Coz it looks like you’re wearing his laundry.”

It hadn’t really dawned on Len that Lisa had been implying something along those lines the entire time, though when he thought back on ‘playing house’ and several other choice comments, it should have been obvious. So Captain Cold had wanted Barry too, or at least Lisa thought he did. But what would Cold have done with him if he got him…?

“Don’t get excited,” Len frowned at her, “for the moment, his innocence is still intact.”

She frowned back at him then instantly perked up again. “But he’s out of costume, right? You so oh me his secret identity, Lenny. Let me just take a quick peek. Pretty please.” She pouted and bounced on the balls of her feet.

She didn’t know Barry’s secret identity? But he did. He knew and had never told his sister? Thank goodness she’d made that clear to him, because now he knew to make a concerted effort not to use Barry’s name.

“What makes you think I’d let you do that?” he threw back at her, defiant, still holding her wrist.

Her pout deepened. “I can’t believe you and your ‘I gave him my word’ crap, Lenny. You gave him your word about the meta humans and still sabotaged that mission. What’s the difference? Oh…” she smirked as she answered her own question, “because one works in both our favors, and the other lets you keep part of The Flash all to yourself. You’re so ridiculous. You want to fuck the kid, I’m not one to blame you—that ass in that suit is suburb,” she said unabashedly, “but if you let him twist your head around…” 

Len released her wrist. He knew he’d lost too much of his Cold expression, but her words, the way her expression softened, caught him by surprise. 

“Well,” she said with a subtle shrug and something sad and wanting in her eyes, “don’t act surprised if I follow suit.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Len asked, more honestly curious than was probably safe. 

She didn’t seem to catch on though, instead looking like she felt some sense of pity for him. “You can’t fall in love with this kid, Lenny. I said you needed some normal relationships in your life, and I meant it. But how can being with The Flash ever be normal? You’re just going to get yourself hurt again.”

Len stared at her, all sense to keep up his ruse lost. 

“He’s a good guy in every sense of the word, and your lifelong ambition is to one-up everyone who crosses you. I don’t want to see you with another asshole, Lenny, that’s not it. But if you want someone sweet and normal and not a part of this life, then it needs to be with someone who’s not going to turn you into the cops at the end of the night. You don’t have it in you to go straight.” A bitter smirk pulled at her lips, and she nodded her head back toward the lounge. “Obviously.”

Len wanted to tell her that he did, that he didn’t want to be the man she thought he was, but then she’d know, she’d really know, and he didn’t know how she’d react. He held himself back but he couldn’t help asking, “And what about you?”

Her smirk shifted into a genuine, wistful smile as she looked off to the side. “I said it before, Lenny…gentlemen are hard to come by in this business. Cisco sure would be nice to try on… Might be fun to pretend for a while, like you’re doing in there.” 

“If you’re just going to pretend with Cisco then stay away from him,” Len said before he could stop himself. He liked the kid. He was brash and brutally honest, but he meant well; they all meant well. When he saw the way Lisa squinted in confusion instead of anger, he hastily added, “You’ll ruin what I’m trying to accomplish here, Lisa. Enough trust to get what we want from them when we need it. Just that; no heads getting twisted anywhere.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, then scanned down his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt. “Whatever you say, Lenny.” With a toss of her hair, she huffed and moved around him, ready to leave. 

He wanted her to go, he couldn’t risk what would happen if she didn’t, but he still felt that pang, that need to comfort her, to let her know how much she meant to him. It was difficult to sound like he imagined Captain Cold would while saying, “I didn’t mean to worry you.” He glanced over his shoulder, and when she turned back to him, she smiled. 

“You do you, Lenny. I can take care of myself. But I’ll always be around if you get in too deep. Call me when you’re done playing with The Flash, okay? Or better yet…come home. But I’m still not giving you any of the haul from 1st National,” she winked.

The laugh that left Len was natural, organic, something he was sure would have left him even if he did remember everything, and while it meant that pang diminished somewhat as he watched her walk away, a new one took its place. 

She didn’t believe he could be anything but Captain Cold either, and it clearly pained her to know that they were in this cycle together—there was no way out even if they both wanted it. 

Len backed up until he hit the wall beside the entrance into the lounge. His breaths came labored, and he felt a tremor working up from his fingertips. He just had to breathe, and focus. He wasn’t going to remember. He wouldn’t allow himself to remember. And once he made sure of that, he’d go to Lisa and tell her the truth. She’d have to see then that things could be better, they had to be better. He didn’t want sweet and normal if that didn’t include Barry. 

He didn’t want to live a lie as Captain Cold, with some asshole or a replacement. He wanted this life, the chance to start over as something better, with these kind people who blindly believed in him. He thought they were wrong, foolish, but as long as he never remembered, maybe that wouldn’t matter. 

The buzzing was back, and he pressed his palms to the sides of his head as if enough pressure could keep it away.

A hand gripped his wrist. 

Len gasped, swinging his arms down and staggering back. The silhouette of Barry stood there, tall and ominous in the dark. He’d heard everything. No…

“You’re shaking,” Barry said, surging forward, his features visible as they melted into concern. He wrapped his arms around Len and pulled him into an embrace. “Why did you lie to her?” 

And Len gasped again, choking on tears that weren’t there. He’d felt the panic rising, and in one fell swoop, it was dismissed. Barry trusted him implicitly, even having heard all that. “I…I was afraid she’d try and make me leave with her, or…” he slid his arms around Barry’s waist and squeezed, “…or blame you for what happened.” 

“Len…” Barry’s voice held nothing but affection. 

“You knew I was lying?”

“To her? Of course. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute, you’re shaking in my arms, and you looked like you were about to have another panic attack the second I came around the corner. All I had to do was see you to know it was an act for Lisa’s sake. You don’t have to ever worry about me not trusting you, Len.”

_“Don’t think I’ll make the same mistake again.”_

Len jerked out of Barry’s arms, but the kid kept an impressive grip on his elbows. Barry’s eyes were as kind as ever in the dark, and worried—those downturned eyebrows that just wrecked Len. 

_"Half of me thought making a deal with the devil was just part of the job, but the other half honestly wanted to believe there was some part of you that was decent. Joke's on me, right?"_

Len closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had never heard Barry sound as venomous as he did in those faint words swirling in his memory. But Len didn’t want to remember. He wouldn’t. He needed to push it away, as far down as it would go, and bury it with something better. 

“Len? Len, please, look at me,” Barry pleaded with him—the real Barry, there in front of him, who trusted him when he never should. 

Barry, who blushed, and stammered, and could ramble on forever, so adorably twitchy. Who always found small ways to touch Len. Who looked him in the eyes and cared so deeply simply because he was a good kid. Who made something low in Len’s gut clench with unfamiliar, delightful nerves. Who had this amazing power that Len could feel thrumming beneath the skin. Who could so easily help him forget everything he never wanted to remember… 

Len opened his eyes to see Barry’s hazel close—that magical color that could be blue, or grey, or green depending on his mood or the colors he was wearing. Len had always loved eyes like that—he knew it, and yet he couldn’t recall a single other face with eyes like these, and he didn’t want to. He only wanted Barry. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted to kiss someone this much in his whole life. 

“Len?”

And Barry’s lips were so soft, the cells forever regenerating to make them feel like the most pleasant thing Len had ever pressed his mouth to. He pressed further forward, while pulling Barry in closer by his arms, each of them gripping the other’s elbows for support. 

Once Barry moved past the initial shock of the kiss, he didn’t try to stop it, but leaned his head just subtly left, parted his lips, and slid his tongue past Len’s teeth with eager confidence. 

The taste of Barry’s tongue, his lips, the way their near identical height made it so easy to fit together, banished everything from Len’s mind other than this. 

He reached for the soft cotton of Barry’s T-shirt, something worn and comfortable he’d slipped into before they settled on the sofa for the movie. Len pulled Barry closer in synch with stepping forward into his body, until he felt resistance as Barry’s back met the wall. It made it so easy to sink against him, licking deeper into his mouth and nibbling gently at his plump lips when he pulled back. 

Barry, in turn, kissed as if he hadn’t embraced someone like this in months, years. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d always been interrupted, or pulled away because the recipient wasn’t the one he wanted. It was a nice thought, that there might be only a meager few who had ever held him like this. 

Len pressed his palms to Barry’s chest. He could feel Barry’s heartbeat, pounding faster than any normal person’s ever could, a steady rhythm urging them on. Then a strange sensation washed over him as Barry moved his hands to Len’s hips and slid them around his lower back, like they were trembling but at an impossible speed. It made Len want to grind his hips forward. 

“W-Wait…” Barry panted out of the kiss. He held his hands out to the side as if afraid to touch Len again. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flush, his lips darkened and swollen. It made Len want to lick his way between them again. But he leaned back, keeping his hands braced on Barry’s chest if only to keep some connection, hoping he hadn’t done the wrong thing. 

“Sorry,” Len said—he never seemed to be anything but. He couldn’t have read Barry wrong with the way the kid kissed him back, could he? “I just…really wanted to do that.”

Barry laughed, this happy, amazed, beautiful sound. He blushed darker and his left hand dropped as his right reached up to run fidgety fingers through his hair. “Me too. I mean…it was nice. I just think maybe it’s late, and a lot’s been happening, and you’re still shaking…” 

Len’s hands were shaking again, even pressed there to Barry’s chest. He started to pull them away, but Barry caught them, his fingers curling around Len’s as he held their hands between them. 

“We should go back to bed,” Barry said. “To sleep!” his eyes widened, “I mean…you know, not…” He sighed dramatically—it was too cute for Len not to laugh in relief. 

He was disappointed though, and maybe it showed in his expression, because Barry paused a moment and reached one hand to his face. His skin was as soft as his lips had been. He pulled in slowly, pressed his lips briefly to Len’s but with promise, so much wonderful promise, then smiled blindingly as he pulled away. 

A different buzzing filled Len’s head as Barry led him by the hand around the corner back into the lounge. His exhaustion was starting to creep up on him—not having really slept, the stress and pain of remembering too much, of seeing Lisa and not knowing what to do, but missing her even as he was with her—and he just wanted to sleep. 

When Barry helped him lie down and then moved to lie back in his usual position—head to toe—Len opened his mouth to protest.

“We’ll have to tell the others the truth about Lisa coming here,” Barry said. 

Len sat up quickly. 

“She’ll show up on the security cameras, Len,” Barry explained. “If I try to hide that, Cisco will notice.” 

The cameras. Len knew about them, but hadn’t really considered what they could see. “So…they’ll see the kiss in the morning too,” he realized. 

Apparently, Barry hadn’t thought of that. He ran both hands through his hair as he sat up—the pair of them, legs not quite side by side this time, but entangled, sitting up at either ends of the sofa. “Shit, I completely forgot. I mean, Cisco already knows that I—” He snapped his mouth shut. 

“Knows…what?” Len prompted. 

“Well, umm, so…he sort of has a thing for Lisa.”

“I gathered that. Seems she shares the sentiment,” Len shrugged. He couldn’t really be sure how much she honestly liked him; so much of her words had been misleading, but he had this feeling the true parts were when she looked sad and longing. 

“Right,” Barry said as if that didn’t surprise him in the least, “so it’s pretty common knowledge that Cisco thinks she’s hot, even though he thinks he shouldn’t since she’s one of the bad guys. And one time when he was sort of ranting to me about it, I may have…confessed that I think you’re pretty hot too. I was trying to make him feel better!” Barry blurted when Len smirked. 

“Oh, so you don’t think I’m hot?” Len teased. 

Barry caught on quickly and gave a shaky laugh. His hand went to his hair again. If the kid didn’t heal quickly, he’d make himself go bald before long. “I just mean…he won’t be completely shocked. And Caitlin knows I’m bi. She’s caught me checking out…people before.” It seemed Barry was purposely leaving out specific names when he said ‘people’. “And she has a much better memory while drunk than I gave her credit for, but…well, they probably won’t freak too much, I’ll just need to get ahead of that, tell them what really happened, so they don’t accidentally let Joe see. He hasn’t quite warmed to you yet.”

Len sobered somewhat thinking of Joe. “Right. So…what’ll you tell them happened?”

Barry’s face went blank, then softened. “The truth tends to work best.”

“And what’s the truth?”

Barry smiled. The kid’s honest, happy grin had to be the brightest, purest expression in the universe. “You kissed me, I kissed you back, and it was really…really nice.”

Len laughed. He could live with that. 

He pulled his legs in so they were crossed, then leaned forward and propped up on his feet until he was hovering all in Barry’s space. Part of him wanted to press his luck, but he really was tired, and this was all fresh and new and the best distraction from all the things that terrified him about who he really was. He kissed Barry like Barry had last kissed him—firm and promising, but brief enough not to push too hard.

Barry was all teeth when Len pulled back. Len wanted to ask the kid, as he’d meant to before, to flip around, lie next to him. But then the sofa wasn’t quite wide enough for that so they’d have to be cuddled up. Maybe it was asking too much. 

Wanting whatever he could get away with, he kept their legs tangled up when he finally laid back, and rubbed a foot along Barry’s calf. Barry shivered.

“We’ll figure things out with Lisa,” he said, once they were both settled in again. “I’m sure she’ll understand in time. You just need a few days to figure out how much you’re going to remember.”

Nothing, Len hoped, but if he needed more to distract him from what kept rising to the surface, “Yeah, we’ll work it out,” there was no better diversion than Barry Allen. 

XXXXX

Barry was so relieved when he awoke well before Cisco and Caitlin would arrive, even if he probably needed more sleep. It meant he could get showered and dressed for the day and be ready to face the others before they had a chance to look at any camera footage. 

Barry wondered if maybe he could just not say anything. They might not look, since they trusted Len now, but then both of them were careful people, diligent even when trusting, especially after what had happened with Wells. Best not to tempt fate. 

For now, he tried not to think of it. He got into the shower, since he needed to be ready for work, and was tempted to flash his way through it for once, but then…he was a little distracted thinking of the previous night. He needed a few moments to reflect, alone, under the heat of the water. He wouldn’t risk anything sordid when Len could come in at any minute, but remembering their kiss—several kisses, but especially that first deeper one—made him bring a hand to his neck…and down his chest. 

He really had confessed to Cisco that he thought Cold was hot. Mutual character flaws, they had decided, finding their enemies sexy—it was something to bond over, especially since both of them had then sputtered out how much that in no way meant they would ever do anything about it. That Barry now had a very good excuse for ignoring that mandate just meant he was the lucky one. 

And besides, Barry had heard Lisa. Sure, she’d covered well, played her part, but there was something there, Barry was sure of it. She’d sounded too mournful, too honest. Barry didn’t understand how Len could have been so panicked after that, when to Barry, it was just further proof that things could turn out okay. 

As he showered, it started out as just humming at first, washing his body vigorously to keep his hands from doing anything else. He wasn’t really thinking about it. Lyrics came next, and while he began soft and under this breath, it was so natural for him, singing in the shower… 

_Along your way_  
_Abandon my faith_  
_In being alone always_  
_It's what you undo_  
_And why I’m unglued_

A smooth baritone voice that Barry did not expect joined him on the chorus.

_You got away_

Barry cut off before finishing the first phrase, but the other voice soared on. 

_You got away with me_  
_I left myself open_

“Len?”

“Why? Expecting someone else?” Len sounded amused. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. You can keep going. I guess I know that song too.”

Very few people knew that song, but then Barry figured he shouldn’t be surprised that Len would know a song from a band called Cold, though it was really the woman's song, and the lead singer from Cold a guest singer. 

But that had been Len’s voice—singing. Captain Cold could sing. Did he happen to like a song Barry did by chance, because he liked the music too, or only because of the band’s name, Barry wondered. Whatever the answer, Len had been surprised to learn that Barry could sing, but this…this was too much. 

“I was up so I figured I’d hop in beside you if you don’t mind,” Len said when Barry didn’t respond. 

For a split second Barry thought the man meant literally beside him, and turned toward the drawn curtain with his hands pulled into his chest like he might need to cover up at a moment’s notice…before it dawned on him that Len meant the next shower over. Barry could hear the shuffle of clothes being removed, then the curtain to the shower next to his being pulled aside. 

“Is it okay?” Len prompted with a little more hesitation. 

“Oh!” Barry was being such a goon again. “Of course, go ahead.”

“You don’t have to start singing again if you don’t want to, you know?” Len said more humorously, relief flooding his voice as he pulled the curtain closed. 

Barry pressed a palm to the tiled wall between them—the only thing between him and his once-enemy, as vulnerable as either could get. 

And suddenly all Barry could think about was that scene from _Elf_ where Will Ferrell was listening to Zooey Deschanel sing “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” and the pun, the perfect pun of that song in his head at that moment had him laughing so hard, he nearly slipped and had to right himself against the wall. 

“What's so funny?” Len’s voice echoed around Barry with the acoustics of the bathroom.

“Oh, uh…nothing, just thought of something really inappropriate.” 

“Oh yeah? You definitely owe me more of the song then,” Len said with a slight huskiness to his voice, and that was new—wonderfully new. 

Nerves fluttered in Barry’s stomach. Larger crowds were easier somehow, but singing on command to just one person, or even a small few, was always harder for him. A crowd you could perform to, but individual people made it feel more intimate. He took a breath, and thought of where he’d left off on the song. 

_So simple and strange_  
_How you rearranged_  
_Chills that I get_  
_Your creeping into this_

And when Barry got to the chorus again, Len joined him on the lead in, echoing his words with the part of the duet that was missing. 

_It's what you undo_  
_(You make your presence known)_  
_And why I'm unglued_

They sang a couple rounds of the chorus together, but eventually fell to laughing. Barry was done showering, ready to get out, so he did, toweling off as he chuckled about having actually just sung in the shower with Leonard Snart accompanying him. If he had a ‘never going to happen in a million years’ bucket list, he would have something to tick off. 

Barry dressed at Flash speed, if only to avoid the awkwardness of Len coming out of his stall to find him naked or half-dressed again like the previous morning. But then as he thought of something to say to recover from the silence the end to their singing had created, he looked back at the stalls. 

It was instinct to turn toward the person you were about to talk to; Barry didn’t mean anything by it, he wasn’t trying to peep on purpose…but it was only curtains covering the shower stalls, and there was just enough space between curtain and tile for Barry to get a straight on view of Len through the slit. 

Len was turned just so, under the spray of water, letting it flow over his head, while keeping his hand over his stiches to protect them, the water cascading down his shoulders and back, and further to the toned muscle of his ass and powerful legs. He was broader than Barry, more filled out and muscular, while Barry had a sleeker build. The scars that had caught Barry’s attention when seeing Len shirtless before were easily forgotten when viewing the full picture. 

Barry swallowed thickly. He should not be peeping like this, it was wrong…so very wrong…

And right when he was about to avert his gaze, Len looked over his shoulder, having felt the presence of eyes on his skin. Barry felt his cheeks flush with heat, too embarrassed to turn away. 

Len grinned at him—not even a little embarrassed, the cheeky bastard.

“I’ll, uhh…give you some privacy.” Barry tore his eyes away, dressed and ready to grab his clothes from the night before and bolt out of the bathroom in a flustered panic. 

“Not a problem, kid,” Len’s voice answered him, and it sounded so much like something Cold would say, in the same teasing voice, and yet still so much friendlier and affectionate—interested in Barry and where his eyes had strayed—that Barry didn’t mind at all.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len took over the story again. The kiss was not planned. I've had the first kiss planned since the start of this...and it was not going to happen here, but Len just...did it, and I was powerless to stop him. I guess he was getting more impatient than you guys. ;-)
> 
> If you've never heard You Got Away by Sierra Swan and Scooter Ward from the band Cold...go now! My husband and I always sing it together, and it just fits coldflash so well. :-) Plus did other people know Wentworth Miller can sing? I Googled it on a whim, and wow...not disappointed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat's out of the bag, but Len has worse worries on his mind, while Barry keeps shooting for optimism.

“Barry!”

Barry whirled around from where he stood in the makeshift kitchen waiting on a pot of coffee for him and Len. That was Cisco’s voice, harried with concern. Shit, they were already here.

Cisco and Caitlin appeared in the doorway moments later looking panicked, darting their eyes around the room as if…looking for Len. He must still be in the bathroom and they hadn’t seen him when walking through the labs. Cisco held a tablet in his hands that he was clutching too tightly to his chest. 

“I’m guessing you already saw the camera footage?” Barry prompted with his hands held out in placation.

“You know?” Caitlin sighed in relief. “So is he…gone?”

Barry frowned. “Gone? Why would he be gone?”

They both gaped at him. 

“Because my security feed woke me up to this, this morning!” Cisco nearly shouted. He turned the tablet around to face Barry, and as expected, it showed footage of Len and Lisa from last night. “We don’t have outside phone lines in the labs right now, Barry, and you weren’t answering your cell!”

Oops. Where had Barry even put his phone? He checked his pockets but found nothing. He must have left it in the lounge plugged in by the extra cot he still hadn’t put away or ever used. 

But wait, if Cisco saw the footage when he woke up, why had they thought Len would be gone? 

“Did you not…watch everything from last night?” Barry asked cautiously, moving around the kitchen island closer to them.

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged a glance. 

“Lisa was enough on her own for me to worry, so I called Caitlin and we rushed right over,” Cisco said.

“Oh god,” Barry darted to them at almost Flash speed as a world of anxiety flared through his mind, “you didn’t tell Joe when you couldn’t get a hold of me, did you?” 

Thankfully the pair shook their heads. 

“We were trying to give Len the benefit of the doubt,” Caitlin assured him, “at least come here first, but when we couldn’t find either of you when we first checked the lounge…” she trailed and shrugged guiltily.

“It’s fine. We’re both fine. He’s taking a shower,” Barry said, shaking off the fluttering feelings of uneasiness, though as he did, another flutter replaced it. “Just…watch the rest of the footage,” he told them. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but their worry was palpable enough to overshadow it. 

They huddled around the tablet as Cisco presumably started the footage from wherever they’d left off. No sound played, but they didn’t need sound once they got to what happened after Lisa left. Barry busied himself with pouring him and Len some coffee so he wouldn’t have to watch their expressions shift.

“Oh,” Caitlin said with renewed pity in her voice, “look at him after she left. He looks…awful. What happened between them?”

“Just keep watching,” Barry said stiffly, “then I’ll explain. I overheard the whole thing.”

A couple minutes passed and Barry kept his back turned. 

Then he heard Caitlin go, “Oh,” again, but in a very different tone.

Cisco echoed her. “Oh.”

“Yeah…” Barry turned with both cups of coffee in hand, extra sugar, black, for Len, and extra everything for him. Cisco and Caitlin’s faces were pinched, like they were afraid to express their true reactions. “Come on, guys, just give it to me straight.” He cringed. “I mean…tell me what you’re thinking.” 

When they looked at each other again and didn’t immediately answer, he delved into a tirade he so didn’t have time to think through before it left his lips. 

“Len did this whole pretending to still be his old self thing with Lisa, so she wouldn’t freak, and it totally wrecked him—that’s why he looked like that after she left—and when I found him, he was shaking, and I just…I just wanted him to know it would be okay. But something was messing with his head, I could tell, and he wouldn’t talk to me, and then…he kissed me and it just...” He paused long enough to look up and see Caitlin with a half-smile of sympathy and Cisco looking—was that jealousy? Barry hoped he was thinking of Lisa. “It was really nice, okay! Gut-wrenchingly hot, actually…” He let his gaze drift as he remembered, and thought of how toned Len’s backside had looked in the shower... 

“Dude,” Cisco sputtered, a dark blush coloring his cheeks when Barry looked up again. 

“Sorry,” Barry really wished he could reach for the back of his head right then but both of his hands were full, “it’s just…been really intense for Len, and I don’t want him thinking there’s anything wrong. It was nice. It really was. He’s nice. You both know that.”

Caitlin gave Barry a more honest, heartfelt smile. “We do know that. He’s a different person right now, Barry. And if you still trust him after Lisa being here, then we trust you. It’s a little worrying though. What if Lisa comes back? What if she could tell Len wasn’t being honest with her?” 

“I don’t think so…” Barry said thoughtfully, standing before them both again as he considered last night’s events. But no, he shook his head. “Even if she did suspect something, I don’t think it would matter. There’s a part of her that wants the same thing, she just doesn’t know how to ask for it, or how to believe she could actually get it. A new life. There was this longing in her words,” he recalled, wanting to believe in Lisa as much as he believed in Len. “I don’t know. She definitely wants to protect Len, wants what’s best for him. She might be more easily convinced of him being a good guy than you’d think. She mentioned you, you know?” he smirked as his gaze drifted more fully to Cisco.

Cisco opened his mouth to refute that, paused to look at Barry hopefully, like ‘really?’ then quickly said, “Barry, as much as the thought of one of the hottest women I’ve ever met in real life actually liking me back is an ego-boost, it’s much more likely she’s only interested in how she can use me to get what she wants. The gun, inside intel, you.” His eyes widened. “Not that I think that’s what’s going on with Len! I mean…with Cold, totally, but Len…” He shrugged. 

A shrug wasn’t quite enough commitment to giving Len the benefit of the doubt as Caitlin was offering, but Barry couldn’t blame them if they were skeptical. “Maybe he and Lisa are more alike than you realize. Either way, there’s no point speculating until more time has passed, and we know what else Len is going to remember. I told him the same thing. For now, I promised Joe we’d put some extra precautions in place for when I’m not here. You have that setup to feed you security footage at home?” He nodded at Cisco’s tablet. 

“Well, yeah, ever since Wells—Reverse Flash,” Cisco corrected, rarely a fan of using Wells’ name anymore, since the man hadn’t ever really been him, “but I had to go out of my way to look at it this morning, so it’s not like I’d get an alert fast enough if something went wrong. Maybe I can rig something to shoot me direct footage with warning bells whenever anyone is outside the perimeter of the main labs. That way if Lisa or anyone else comes back, or if Len ever tried to leave without us knowing…” He trailed and his eyes went distant, figuring details and calibrations in his head. 

“That sounds perfect, Cisco, thank you,” Barry said. He wanted to bring Len his coffee before the man decided to check on things himself and overheard anything that sounded like they didn’t trust him. Barry would explain all about the extra security, so Len understood it was mostly for Joe’s peace of mind, not any need of theirs. Trust was the most important thing right now to make sure Len still wanted the same things when—if—he remembered.

Barry made to move around Cisco and Caitlin to go find him.

"Barry?" It was Caitlin, sounding placating but tentative. When he looked back at her, her eyes spoke volumes of how much she didn’t think he'd like what she had to say.

"What?" 

"It’s only…well…you're absolutely sure the act was for Lisa and not...for you?" she asked. "I'm not saying I think otherwise, Barry, but this is Captain Cold we're taking about. If anyone was capable of catching us by surprise..."

A flicker of anger curdled in Barry's gut but not because Caitlin was asking the hard question. Barry had wondered that too, when he first started to overhear Len and Lisa last night. He'd felt the worst nausea and anger hearing that familiar mocking tone to Len's voice, and had been certain for a moment that he'd been duped. He hoped he never had to tell Len that it really wasn't until he saw him, the way he shook, his mournful expression once Lisa was gone, that Barry realized his mistake.

"I'm sure," Barry said, and he meant it—he had to. "He isn’t Captain Cold anymore."

"And it’s not just the make-out session talking?" Cisco asked with a raised eyebrow. He held his hands up when Barry scowled. "Coz I have firsthand experience with how difficult it is to think clearly after that. With Lisa!" he added hastily, as if the qualifier was necessary.

Barry forced a smile, because it wasn't just the kiss, but he couldn't deny that it made things more complicated. 

No, it wasn't the make-out session, it was Len's smile afterwards, the two softer kisses that had followed, Len's sweet, timid nature. That was his real self, not Captain Cold.

"I trust him," Barry said in answer, and turned on the spot to leave things at that. 

When he walked into the lounge, and Len was standing there in different clothes for the first time—jeans of Barry’s that were too long over his feet, and a sweater Barry had deemed too big so it fit Len’s broader shoulders perfectly—he knew the sentiment hadn't been anything but the truth. 

Len smiled at him, and the sight was so beautiful, Barry almost stumbled.

“Coffee?”

XXXXX

Len could tell that Barry was trying too hard. He stretched his smile too far, while at the same time his eyes were downturned in that sad, grieving way that left an ache in Len’s chest. The playfulness, the blush in Barry's cheeks like how he’d been that morning, drinking Len in openly through the sliver of space from the shower curtain, it was all still there. The kid even—almost—went for a kiss goodbye, but backed off, too shy, Len figured, to go for it, so Len followed him and bridged the gap before he could get away. Barry hummed when their lips pressed together. It made Len want to follow him right out the door, but he wasn't allowed, couldn't risk it, and dwelling on that brought back some of the ache as Barry waved goodbye.

Cisco and Caitlin were also on edge, despite whatever Barry had explained to them about last night. Len couldn’t blame them. They had to be alone with him all day.

But they tried too, tried so hard to act like they weren’t spooked whenever he entered a room. Len didn’t want to make this harder on them, but doing nothing wasn’t helping anything either; he could feel his memories ever encroaching, this awful pressure weighing him down. He decided he needed to take a risk to ensure things turned out as he wanted, and just hoped the others trusted him enough to let him try. 

“I want you to help me reprogram the cold gun,” he told Cisco.

The kid had been sitting with a tablet while typing in complicated code at one of the computers. When Len snuck up on him, Cisco jumped and pulled the tablet to his chest. Len already knew what was on it—the camera feeds. Cisco didn’t want him to know he was watching him, but Barry had already explained. Even if the extra security was more to prevent him from leaving—or someone else from sneaking in—it made sense Cisco would also use it to keep tabs on him. 

“You…wanna mess with the gun again?” Cisco asked with a furrowed brow. 

“I want to make it non-lethal. You created it, right? You can do that? Alter the schematics somehow so the ice could be reversed, just a sheet, a covering, not solid? So it couldn’t…ever kill anyone again.”

Cisco sucked in a breath; he obviously didn’t like being reminded that his creation had been used to kill people. After a moment, he said, “It wouldn’t be as effective that way. I mean, at its original intention, which was…stopping Barry.”

“That’s why I want to change it,” Len emphasized. “I might be able to take it apart and put it back together again, I understand how it works, but I wouldn’t be able to reprogram it to being lethal again without your help, if…” Len couldn’t say it, but Cisco’s eyes went wide and then back to normal with a determined nod. 

“We can do that. It has some lower settings like what you…” Cisco steeled himself, keeping his expression impassive, “like what Captain Cold used on my brother. The damage wasn’t permanent. He’s fine now, because we were able to thaw the affected areas soon enough. If I adjust the settings so that the lowest one is as high as it goes…” Excitement danced in his eyes. 

He pushed his chair back from where he sat and spun away across the room toward another terminal. Len followed. He watched, amazed as Cisco pulled up the cold gun schematics in moments and started punching in equations Len barely understood—and then definitely didn’t understand at all. Good. 

“This could be so sweet. Like a really awesome tool to use against bad guys.” Cisco paused in his typing to look up at Len over his shoulder. “The real bad guys,” he grinned supportively. His fingers started flying across the keys again. “This is totally leading into another awesome superhero team-up, Len. You can’t suggest modifying the cold gun and then expect someone else to use it, you know. Maybe we can give you a new name to go with the good guy persona. Like Mr.—”

“Hold it. No more nicknames,” Len interrupted. “For now, let’s stick with ‘Len’.”

Cisco pouted like Len had spoiled all of his fun—oddly reminiscent of Lisa, actually. “While ‘Len’ is hugely cooler than Leonard—”

“Hey, you were wearing a Leonard McCoy T-shirt the other day.”

“Yeah, and everyone calls him ‘Bones’. Duh.” Cisco rolled his eyes. 

Len laughed. He couldn’t help liking the kid. His honesty was always refreshing. He still tried to make Len feel as if things weren’t as bad as they really were, but when he looked at Len with genuine hope that things could turn out okay, he knew Cisco really believed it. 

Cisco pushed from the desk so that his chair rolled parallel with Len, grinning up at him as he gestured back at the screen in pride. It still showed schematics for the cold gun, but with different numbers and highlights next to various parts on the screen. 

“Come on,” Cisco nudged his arm, “you can help me make the changes without me having to give away how it works. You won’t be able to change it back alone, but if you’re the one doing the alterations…”

“Maybe it’ll mean more later,” Len finished, the unspoken ‘when I remember’ left to hang, because Len still planned on keeping that a distant, hopefully impossible option. “I’m only okay touching that thing again because I’ll be changing it into something better. But if I start to…if I look like I’m about to…” He stared at the screen, at the outlined image of the gun that was almost too much on its own, when the real thing was just across the room and far more deadly. 

A warm hand closed around Len’s wrist. “We’ll let Caitlin know what we’re working on. If anything happens…Barry is literally seconds away, no matter where he is.”

The kid had the gall to look like he wholeheartedly believed in Len despite the danger, despite his earlier skepticism and comments. Maybe it was this task set before them now, something Cisco could wrap his head around and support. It made Len feel emboldened to see this through. 

He patted Cisco’s hand. “What do you need me to do?”

Caitlin moved her work so that while she was in the next room over, she faced the glass and could see everything they were doing, in case they needed to call Barry. That’s the only way they were willing to word it—in case they needed to call Barry. It soothed Len that at least they had some safeguards in place, but this had been his idea. He didn’t want to let them down. 

Cisco had him take the gun apart, because, “You’re better at it than me,” and even though Len did it in even less time than he had the other day, every second his hands were in contact with parts of the gun, feeling the inherent cold radiating from it, he felt that buzzing hum in the back of his mind. 

A few memories slipped in. 

_Len stared Lisa down without flinching. “Are you admitting to obsessing over The Flash’s little genius assistant?”_

_“Are you admitting to obsessing over The Flash?”_

And each time they did, Len started to shake. He’d pause, hold his breath a moment, and keep going. Cisco looked wary when he finally stopped, but then delighted when he realized Len was done taking the gun apart. He slapped Len on the shoulder, and it felt like victory. 

Then Cisco took over, giving him orders about what to do with each part. Cisco did certain vital, more complicated things himself, but the rest he simply directed and told Len what to do. Having to focus on something that wasn’t as second nature as just where the pieces fit together helped Len to keep stray memories back—for a time. 

It was the chill of handling the gun that brought new ones. 

_“The first time someone ends up dead because of one of those metas, it’s on you,” The Flash snarled._

_“I think you’re forgetting the pilots of the plane they crashed."_

Len knew these memories were closer to the forefront because they were more recent, not as dangerous as those that made up the core of him—of Captain Cold and the way he’d been before he even had that name. But when shades of more distant, darker memories started to surface, he pulled away, clutched his hands to his chest, closed his eyes, and took in several drawn out, deep breaths. 

“Len…?”

“Just give me a minute.”

“Okay…” Cisco sounded like he was ready to bolt if he needed to. 

Somehow, Len kept the attacks at bay, but it didn’t diminish the buzzing, the pull and tease of memories calling. He could feel it now, the remaining wall, with a perfectly formed door inside his head that he had to keep pushing things in front of to keep closed. He’d build a new wall in front of that one if he had to, anything and everything to keep that damn door closed. 

He went back to working on the gun. They were almost finished, Cisco told him, and Len nodded, didn’t speak, just stared at the gun listening to Cisco’s instructions as he worked. 

Hours must have passed, and when all of the alternations had been made, Cisco told him to put it back together. One hundred and nineteen seconds. Cisco didn’t time him, but Len knew he beat the record. 

The moment it was reassembled, he picked up the gun and charged it—reflex, instinct. Cisco backed away like he had the first time that happened, slowly, cautious, and for a moment, Len didn’t think anything of it, didn’t worry or care, just held the charged gun that sent exciting shivers shooting up his arms as he thought about how much fun it would be to redecorate that glass wall…and Caitlin’s pretty face beyond it.

He dropped the gun onto the table and stumbled back, amazed he didn’t hear anything crack or break as it landed. He waited for the attack to hit him. When it didn’t, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing…or very, very bad. 

XXXXX

Eddie and Iris were still staring at him. Then Eddie cracked a smile, started to laugh, like he thought Barry must be joking—he had to be joking. 

“Barry Allen, you are not having slumber parties with Captain Cold at S.T.A.R. Labs,” Iris said succinctly. 

Eddie looked like he wanted to laugh again, but his expression sank when Barry didn’t join in. “Barr…"

"I wouldn't call it slumber parties," Barry defended, then scratched his head, "though we are camped out in the lounge. And we did watch a movie the other night."

Eddie was wholly flabbergasted now and visibly tense. "You watched a movie. With Leonard Snart." 

Barry almost wished he hadn't told them, but he'd already decided: no more secrets, no more lies. They'd convinced him to have dinner at Joe's tonight, and he'd had to explain that he couldn't stay as late as usual, since he had to head back to S.T.A.R. Labs. When they'd asked about Flash business, of course he told them the truth.

"Does Dad know about this?" Iris whispered.

"I do," Joe said, coming out of the kitchen with three beers balanced in his hands that he passed around to everyone but Barry. Barry had never been much of a beer guy; no point in wasting it if he couldn't even get a slight buzz—which he was really lamenting about now.

Iris knocked back a swig of beer immediately.

Eddie gaped at Joe, his bottle held suspended. "And you're okay with this?"

"I didn't say that," Joe affirmed, but then eyed Barry in sympathy. He sighed. "Everything Barry said, about Snart not remembering who he is, acting like a completely different person...it seems to hold up. I went to see him myself. I don't know if it'll last, but for now..."

"For now everything is fine," Barry said. He felt like maybe now was the moment he should divulge his other secret, but...no, it was just a kiss—several kisses now, really—but he shouldn't get ahead of himself. He'd had to explain to Cisco and Caitlin, sure, because of the camera footage, but he hadn't really talked to Len about anything yet. It was too new, too insane to explain to his family.

"Barry?" Joe pressed in lieu of his silence, "is there something that isn't fine?"

"What?" Barry snapped to attention. "No! I checked in with Cisco and Caitlin before leaving the station. They're going to work late so Len isn’t alone. Nothing happened today, I just can't stay long after dinner."

"Did something happen last night?" Iris asked, and damn her for always being able to read between Barry's lines.

He groaned in frustration and turned to sink down into the couch, feeling all of their eyes boring into him as they followed suit sitting themselves in the living room, though only Iris braved sitting right beside him. She looked at him expectantly, but Barry’s attention drifted to Joe, whose gaze was guarded. 

“You’ll just overreact,” Barry said.

“So that means there’s something to overreact to?”

Urg. Barry really hated the way he did that, that perfect Dad counter argument without any effort. Barry didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t ready to tell them he might have something more than friendship building with Len. They wouldn’t understand. Not until they knew him. 

He settled on an easier truth. “His sister, Lisa, came to the labs last night.”

All three of them sat up straighter. Barry wished Iris wasn’t as in the know as the detectives in the room, but being a reporter made her just as knowledgeable, especially concerning The Flash’s various villains. 

“Nothing happened,” Barry assured them. “She was just worried about her brother. She thought I’d locked him in the pipeline or something and was coming to rescue him.”

“And he chose to stay?” Eddie asked, genuinely surprised.

There was so much more to it than that, but Barry answered simply with, “Yes, because he doesn’t want to be Captain Cold anymore. Seeing Lisa didn’t help him remember, not everything, anyway, and whenever he does remember something, he gets so…” Barry stared at Iris’ beer. He really wished he could swipe some of it and feel the burn for a moment. “I know he’s been remembering a few things, and he hates it, starts panicking, almost makes himself pass out just from…” and it only then dawned on Barry, “just from trying so hard to not remember.” 

Len had said it enough times, that he didn’t want to remember being Captain Cold, but Barry hadn’t realized how much he meant it, how hard he was fighting against it, and how maybe that was making the panic attacks worse.

Barry would have to deal with that later. For now, all that mattered was that Len wanted to be the man he’d changed into, a man who was gentle and kind, who teased Barry but playfully, not vindictive or cruel. Who apparently thought Barry’s complete idiocy was adorable and didn’t mind that he had totally peeped on him in the shower that morning. If they had met under different circumstances, it could have been so easy, the rapport they had, how comfortable Barry felt around him. He wished he could explain that to his family.

It had gone eerily quiet, he realized, and he looked up cautiously to see Joe frowning, looking sorrowful, while Eddie smiled with his heart on his sleeve like always, and Iris—god, Barry would always get lost in her dark eyes when she looked at him like that, like she was stunned and proud of him all at once.

“Barr,” she said sweetly, “it’s just the way you are, you know, always seeing the best in people. Even your enemies,” she chuckled. 

Eddie laughed too. Even Joe had to smile at that.

“But we, well…” Iris looked aside at her father.

Without any words needing to pass between them, he knew to pick up where she'd left off. “We want you to be safe, Barry. Snart’s a dangerous man. That you want to offer him something better, a fresh start, and he seems—so far—to be willing to accept that, it really is amazing, something you always hope for in this job. You wouldn't be you if you didn't want to give him that. We just want you to be careful. "

“We’re cops, Barry, but…at least to me, that’s never been about punishing the wicked,” Eddie added. “Sure, that’s part of it, sort of has to be, but I’d rather see a reformed criminal getting to go home to his family, happy, ready to make up for his crimes, than watch one rot in prison the rest of his life without any hope for redemption. Maybe that’s too altruistic…”

“It is,” Joe deadpanned with a sideways glance at Eddie, but he was smiling, “but I guess that’s just the way heroes are supposed to think.”

Iris beamed that Joe had included both Barry and Eddie in the comment, and Eddie looked a little flustered as well. 

Barry, in turn, didn’t know how to express to Joe how much it meant to him to have those words used in much the same way as he’d said them to Joe the day before. Barry wasn’t sure if he was a hero, but he wanted to be one—like Joe always would be to him, and Eddie, his real dad, Oliver, so many others. Iris too, and not just because she could throw a mean punch. Barry was surrounded by heroes. He didn’t think it was asking too much to want to add another one to their ranks.

“Thanks, guys, I can't tell you how much it means to me to know you’re with me on this, even if it is a risk,” Barry said, brightening as much as he could. It was family dinner night; he hadn’t meant to bring everyone down with such serious talk. “Now come on, don’t you need to put us to work getting dinner ready, Joe?” he grinned at the man across from him.

Joe rolled out of his chair as if just then remembering. “You bet your ass I do. I’m not chopping all those vegetables myself.”

Joe led the way into the kitchen, Eddie following closely behind after tossing Barry another supportive smile, leaving Iris to trail back with Barry as she turned to him. 

“I hope things turn out for the best, Barry,” she said. “I can tell this means a lot to you, the chance to save one of your enemies. It’s…kind of crazy.”

“I know,” Barry really did, especially after how spectacularly they had failed at rehabilitating the metas, “but it’ll be worth the risk, Iris, I know it. When we’re sure everything is good, you can meet Len for yourself, and then I promise, you won’t believe he’s the same guy you saw icing people on the news.”

Iris laughed. It wasn’t really funny, the things Captain Cold had done, but Barry appreciated that she was trying, that she believed in him. Barry believed too; he wasn’t all smoke and mirrors, he honestly believed in Len, and looked over at Iris with his widest smile.

“I really think everything is going to be okay.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanest line ever, right? The next two chapters are what I've been building toward, so I'm really excited to get to them. Then just be prepared for what comes next. :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len gets swept up in the storm of his true self, and decides to take Barry along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where the hell did this come from so quickly? How...? You are all terribly spoiled, but apparently the best inspiration I could ask for. This one is a little shorter, but had to break where it does.

Len sat on the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen. After reprogramming the cold gun, he’d thanked Cisco for his assistance but retreated from the labs back to the lounge. The risk hadn’t been worth it. Working with the gun had only made things worse, or maybe he’d simply never stood a chance at keeping his memories from returning. The buzzing was deafening now, and being in the quiet room alone was the only thing that even barely contained it.

He was just tired, had a headache, he told Caitlin when she came in later to check on him, hovering just out of range for him to reach her if he made a move, he noticed, remaining safely behind the sofa. He let her check his stitches when she offered, which she also did from a certain distance, never quite touching him. He was healing fine, she said. He was healing…remembering...

He couldn’t look at her, kept turned toward the TV, facing forward. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. He was fine, “I’m fine. Please don’t call Barry.” Len didn’t want to interrupt the kid’s evening over nothing—nothing they could do anything about. 

Len really was tired, and really did have a headache. He gratefully accepted the extra ibuprofen Caitlin brought him, the simply made dinner Cisco offered, the brief checks that he was okay, but he just wanted to be left alone. It was better if they stayed away. 

The few times he glanced at either of them when they came in, he imagined their faces in anguish and fear, knowing it was echoes of actual times he’d seen them that way. But what stung was how a part of him felt a thrill in remembering, not only guilt.

That same part of him yearned to pick up the cold gun again in a way he’d tried to dismiss before—but the chill up his arm while holding it, the intricacies of the parts, the hidden power, holding so much in so simple an outward design, it was an intoxicating feeling, he remembered. He remembered…

He felt his hands shaking and tightened them into fists. The quiet wasn’t enough. He needed something, anything to keep the memories at bay, that roar of the approaching storm.

“Hey, guys, I miss anything?” 

Barry’s voice—faint, but still clear within the otherwise quiet space—drifted to Len plainly. No wonder Barry had been able to overhear him and Lisa.

Cisco and Caitlin did a better job of keeping their voices low, but Len still heard them.

“It’s, uhh…fine, Barry,” said Caitlin.

“Len’s just been quieter today,” said Cisco.

Barry didn’t buy their words for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

They reluctantly explained about the gun, how Len had asked to reprogram it, how he’d seemed fine, insisted he was fine, even after they were done and he escaped to the lounge. But something was wrong, they knew something was wrong, and they didn’t know what to do about it.

“It’s creepy,” whispered Cisco.

Caitlin shushed him, but her voice was just as reticent. “Oh, Barry, I don’t know. I’m worried. You should be careful tonight. He just…doesn’t seem the same.”

Len's fisted hands were still trembling. He wished an attack would come. The panic had been something he could face, at least, something that assured him he was putting up a fight, even if he was losing. Now he shook and his head pounded, but his pulse remained steady, like it knew…

He didn’t hear much more of the others’ conversation. Eventually, he knew Cisco and Caitlin were leaving, slipping away without even wishing him a goodnight. That’s how scared they were, how eager they were to leave his company now that they’d been reminded of the man he once was. They felt the storm coming too.

Len titled into the sofa and laid down, knowing Barry would be coming in soon to check on him. He didn’t know what to say to the kid. Barry would want to talk, he’d push and he’d soothe, and it would only make things worse. The last of Len's barriers were just waiting for a catalyst, and he had no idea what that might be. 

All the more reason he should stay upright, face Barry, make sure they were prepared for the worst…but Len couldn’t do it. He felt drained and sick with worry. He wanted something to retreat into, and all he had was this couch, and the darkness behind his eyes that, for now, weren’t conjuring any visions of his past.

“Len?” Barry asked quietly as he entered the room.

Len did all he could to steady his breathing, his shaking, thinking of it like meditation, not just an excuse to not face Barry. 

He heard Barry sigh with such rich emotion in his voice, it almost prompted him to sit up. Slowly, Barry came around the sofa and sat on the edge of the glass coffee table near Len’s head. It was harder to pretend he was asleep sensing how close Barry was and knowing he was watching him.

“I just got everyone excited to meet you,” Barry whispered, rife with disappointment, “you can’t lose hope now. You’re too hard on yourself. I know this isn’t easy, but…it’s going to be okay, Len. I believe in you. Even Joe’s starting to believe we can turn this around, that you can be someone different. Not even different, that’s not it…” 

He sighed again, and Len imagined him scrubbing his hands down his face after a flutter of movement. This kid, sitting here, thinking he was talking only to himself, was too sweet, too precious for his own good. 

“This is the real you, Len,” he said softly, warm and honest. “I know it. You just have to want it, to fight for it. We’re only just getting to know each other, and I...I can’t believe how easy it is to like you, to…want you. And not only because I finally know what you’re hiding under that parka,” he snickered, then returned with somber, quieter words. “I have to make a good call one of these days, right? I know I’m not wrong about this, about you, I know I’m not. I really think this could be something...”

Something what? And what was ‘this’, Len wondered. But Barry didn’t say anything else. He leaned forward, signaled by a creak of the coffee table, and Len felt his breath stutter as Barry’s lips pressed gently to his temple, along his hairline. He knew he could open his eyes right then, play the whole thing off, talk to Barry, but he was too afraid. He kept his breaths even, and fought not to move in any telling ways until he heard Barry get up.

A few minutes passed where Barry left the room, Len figured to the bathroom and checking around the labs. Eventually he came back to sit beside Len's feet on the end of the sofa. 

As Len's feigned sleep started to turn into the real thing, the last thing he remembered was Barry’s hand on his ankle.

XXXXX

It was so cold. Why was it cold? Len shivered, holding Lisa against him. Lisa…

He opened his eyes. They were in a closet in the cellar downstairs. The heat didn’t reach down here, and it was cold outside, below freezing, but they had to stay hidden. Their father was on a rampage and Len would not risk him getting a hold of Lisa. He pulled her closer into his chest.

She was so small, thin but with a head like a lollipop, he often teased her, her blue eyes huge and her long brown hair a mess around her shoulders. She didn’t brush it well enough, not like her mother used to. Len wasn’t any good at it when he tried to help; she always complained when he pulled at the tangles. 

He tried so hard to be good at other things. Protecting her, he could always do that. But it was getting so hard to stay. He couldn’t stay in this house anymore, but he knew their father would never let him take her.

“I’m cold, Lenny…” she whimpered, then flinched when the sound of their father stomping through the house echoed down to them.

“I got you…”

He’d get free of this place and come back for her, he would, and he’d never be afraid of the cold again.

"You have to be tough, Lisa. You can't be afraid. If he's hard..."

"Then I gotta be hard right back," she said.

"That's right, because if you're not afraid of him, he can't have any power over you."

They heard him at the top of the stairs. Twenty-six seconds. A handful more if he was drunk. That's how long it would be before he found them. Len always knew, he'd learned and he’d counted, so he was ready for whatever happened next.

"Ten seconds," he whispered to Lisa. "Five..."

The door was torn open and Len bolted to his feet. Lisa was gone now, and when he charged the person at the entrance, it was a cop—some uniform, not his father, but what did it matter? Len hated cops if one could be like his dad, if the others could let him get away with what he was. 

Len darted out of the house he'd broken into, his haul safely tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Petty theft wasn’t enough to get by on, but he’d get better. He’d get better until he had enough.

He turned a corner and he wasn't running; he was planning. Mick looked at him expectantly. They'd only just met, but the guy could fight. That would be useful. His need to start fires was a hindrance at times, but useful at others. Len just had to keep him under control. Mick was a hothead, but he wanted someone to turn to deep down, someone to lead him, and Len needed all the friends he could get if he was going to be successful. He needed to be the best. Then it would be enough. Then no one would be able to stop him when he went back for Lisa.

But she wasn't the same girl he'd left behind. "You told me to be tough, so I got tough. What did you think I was going to do, Lenny?"

Len blinked and Lisa was in front of him, not Mick. She was older now, her eyes fierce, her fists tight. She'd found ways to survive too. Len couldn't remember when they'd lost the version of themselves they used to be. But it didn’t matter. They were together. And if they were together, then it was them against the world.

Everyone who got in Len’s way was the same to him, just a copy of Dad. The lowlifes were symbols of what he really was, the cops of what he pretended to be; the full roadmap of a system that didn't work. Someone had to bring it down around everyone's shoulders so they could see how fucked it was, and if Len had fun along the way, well, wasn't he due? Hadn't they earned being the ones calling the shots instead of being stepped on? 

He had to be hard. He had to be cold. He had to be the best. He was the best, no more angry, flippant voices to bring him down, other than uniforms and badges, and those never meant more than a reflection of something Len hated. The only reflection that mattered was the way he looked in Lisa’s eyes, and he’d come back for her. Too late, but he’d come back. Nothing was going to catch them by surprise or exploit their weaknesses again. 

There were jail cells, and there were heists. There were safe houses, but never a home—he had never known one to begin with. There was Mick, and there was Lisa. There were others, too, few he trusted, but some that were useful. The thrill made up for the ache. Beating someone out was better than being beaten down. Eventually it was all he knew and all he wanted. 

Having that cold gun in his hands was the first time he’d felt satiated in years. But when the ache came back it was stronger than ever, a need, a hunger, a sickness—so much more like Mick than Len would admit. Nothing beat that rush with a chill running up his arm as he fired.

_“You know I don’t do this for the pretty trinkets or cash, Lisa, I’m interested in something greater.”_

_“The challenge, the next big score.”_

_“There is no greater challenge than helping The Flash save people.”_

Len whirled around. Why was Cisco here? Why was Caitlin? They stood in front of him looking so kind and supportive, he didn’t know what to say. 

Sensing that he wasn’t the only one standing there facing them, he glanced over his shoulder, and there was Mick and Lisa, all suited up holding their guns. Len had his cold gun in his hands, his parka, his gloves, his goggles over his eyes. 

He looked back at Cisco and Caitlin but they weren’t smiling or supportive anymore—their fear mixed with hatred as they backed away from him.

And suddenly there was Barry, just beyond them, walking forward. He was in his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, then a T-shirt, then his Flash suit, then the sweatshirt again. His expression flickered as much as his clothes did and the personas he carried. Affection, understanding; disappointment, disgust. Len wanted to rush forward to meet him, tell him he was sorry, that this wasn’t what he wanted, but he felt frozen in place until Barry was standing just in front of him.

_“Joke’s on me, right?”_

Len gasped and arched up, only to find himself arching toward a T-shirt-clad chest, tight arms wrapped around him as they moved superhuman fast up and down his back to stay the chills wracking his body. He was shuddering deep to his core, even as the chill dissipated beneath the steady palms of Barry Allen—holding him close, comforting him, murmuring soothing words into his hair. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay, please wake up…god, you’re freezing…”

“I-I’m awake,” Len stuttered, his teeth chattering as he gulped in air. 

The dream hovered around him like afterimages, only it was real, all of it was real, and he could feel the match ready to strike and ignite everything in a blaze that would rush back with horrible purpose. In a moment it’d be so much more than buzzing, he could feel it— _twenty-six seconds_ —but no! He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to remember…

“I’m here, Len,” Barry said, like he knew it was all Len wanted, just to be here as he was, with Barry, and not like half of him wanted to knock Barry back from him in a contemptuous shove— _you’re cramping my style, kid._

Len keened into Barry’s shoulder from the pain, the conflict in his head.

The blurred movement of Barry’s hands slowed, moved more soothingly up and down his back, clung and pressed and pulled. Len dug his face into the crook of Barry’s neck and felt the tears smudge away. He had his hands twisted in Barry’s T-shirt, and he didn’t even know how that had happened. They were on the sofa, the room dark, Barry scrambled up onto the cushions, all tangled limbs practically in Len’s lap to hold him the way he was. 

Len could feel it. Seconds, only moments were left, like a ticking time bomb, and he’d be gone, erased, swallowed by memory and experience. 

He pulled back so he could look at Barry. The kid was between his bent legs, arms around him, their faces close, even pulled away to look into each other’s eyes. Len still shivered, but Barry was so warm there between his thighs, radiating all this glorious heat from the lightning in his veins. 

The fearful look in those hazel eyes captivated Len, the frantic, desperate affection bared so openly, the mussed shape of Barry’s hair from sleeping, the subtle part to his lips as he shuddered from them being that close to each other…

 _You’d be so good to ruin_ , Len thought, and it choked him that part of him—most of him—meant that. 

Barry flushed. He had to be able to see the heat, the hunger in Len’s eyes. Something to feed the beast, that’s what Len needed now, to quench the need that always won out because he’d trained himself to love nothing else. That would keep the memories back just a little longer…just long enough to feel something beautiful before the end. 

Len was sickened by how much he wanted that, but he still did want it, craved the triumph of wrecking The Flash—no, Barry—and being able to hold some small piece of that forever. Those lips looked as soft and inviting as they had the night before.

It delighted him that Barry bent for the kiss first. 

A gong struck in Len's head, like thunder. Barry’s lips pressed tenderly, but Len didn't want tender. He sought out Barry's smooth tongue, sealed their lips together and rocked forward until Barry toppled back onto the sofa. The memories were there, all right there, but with Barry the buzzing held back, leaving them and their kiss in the eye of the storm.

"Len," Barry gasped as Len climbed on top of him, straddling him easily once the kid was knocked onto his back. "What are you doing?" He already looked flush and wanton, the most delicious temptation.

There were still tears in Len's eyes, down his cheeks, his hands wouldn't stop trembling as he rested them on Barry's chest, and he breathed in the close scent of the kid, like copper and electricity. "Please," he near whimpered. He needed something to ground him if he was going to get swept away anyway. 

Barry rested his hands atop Len's, his eyes caring, loving, but pitying too. "You were having a nightmare again. We should—"

“No,” Len didn't want to talk about it. He'd lose this chance if they talked about it. "Help me forget, Barry...I just want to forget..." He tried to go for another kiss, but Barry held him back.

Those downturned brows looked so sad. "Len, you can't do this. You're making yourself sick. Cisco and Caitlin are worried, and so am I. You can't fight your memories, it's who you are."

Len knew that now, but Barry had no idea who he really was. He wanted to grip Barry by the hair and kiss him fiercely, make him understand who—what—he was, but he used the last of his strength to fight that brutal inclination. He needed this to be the one last beautiful thing in his life, even if it was gone moments later.

So he spoke the truth, "Please...you're everything about a new beginning I'd ever ask for, kid," and gently touched Barry's cheek instead.

A menagerie of emotions flitted across Barry’s face. Surprise. Joy. A cringe like he wanted to challenge what Len was saying, protest that this was just a diversion and a dangerous one when everything between them was so new. Then the deepest despair and longing, like the kid had never been wanted before and was selfish enough to not want to let this pass them by either. 

Len capitalized on the moment when he saw that particular emotion flicker to life. He looked at Barry, just looked at him, and thought of every sweet moment, and long talk, and shared laughter between them, how much this poor, dumb kid was trying to save something that couldn’t be saved, and he wanted to gather him up and protect him in his arms…as much as he wanted to shatter him. So he kissed him, but he forced himself to be gentle, pleading with the touch of lips on lips.

Barry shivered beneath him— _you make it so easy, Scarlet._

Len’s hands shook as they curled into Barry’s T-shirt again. He pulled back, breath stuttering, hips aligned over Barry’s but waiting, silently beseeching Barry to answer his advances the way he wanted.

As the cyclone roared around them, that Barry couldn’t understand was right on the brink, bearing down on them both, he grasped the back of Len’s neck and pulled them back together.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And THAT is originally where I intended to have their first kiss, though I was imagining this all going down MUCH differently. More soon, I swear! Yet this weekend, if I can manage. :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't even responded to your comments from the previous chapter, but this one would not leave me alone until it was out of me. Hold on, folks...

This was a bad idea. Barry knew it was a bad idea. Everything about Leonard Snart was a bad idea. But it felt so good, pressed down into the sofa cushions by Len’s weight, the broader man sitting atop Barry, knees on either side of his thighs, as Barry clung to Len’s neck and kissed him. 

Len’s hands that had been braced on Barry’s chest started to drift downward as Len let more of his weight settle on Barry’s hips. They were both wearing thin, grey S.T.A.R. Labs sweatpants; nothing was left to the imagination as Barry began to react, and Len was right there with him. 

Barry gasped when cold fingers found the hem of his T-shirt and pushed up underneath it. It was the middle of the night, maybe 3AM, the building empty except for them, and the cameras—shit, the cameras! This time Barry would definitely tamper with the footage and just explain to Cisco that he would be thankful it had been erased.

Barry wished he could let Len know that he wasn’t allowing this to happen only because Len had changed since hitting his head. Barry had already admitted that he’d found the Rogue attractive from the beginning. Who wouldn’t? But it wasn’t only that either. He liked the confidence and swagger of Captain Cold, how clever he was, how adaptive. He also secretly loved the puns, and whenever he was really upset, especially if it was at Cold, he’d think back on the most ridiculous of them and laugh. The guy had style, there was no doubt about that, and he hid nothing, held nothing back about who and what he was.

If Barry could have that without the darker side, the side that hurt people and killed and enjoyed devastation then he wouldn’t need Len to be timid and sweet—not all the time. Though he loved that too, this unique side of Len that at least in part had to be in him somewhere or it wouldn’t have been his default. He was a good man. Barry would show him that he could be good just as he was, the best of himself, not as someone else.

If this was how he showed Len that…maybe it wasn’t so bad.

One of Len’s hands pushed up to Barry's clavicle beneath the T-shirt, the other clinging to his hip. Barry didn’t mean to grind up into Len so tellingly, but the tease of heaviness growing between them, thrusting up and being able to feel how hard Len was for him already through the thin material, was maddening. 

The hand up Barry’s shirt slid slightly down and to the right, grazing dull fingernails over a nipple. Barry hissed. His skin was always brand new from how it regenerated—it made him so much more sensitive than he used to be. 

Len broke from their tangle of tongues to kiss across Barry’s jaw and down his neck. The spot right beneath Barry’s ears was particularly shiver-inducing. Len learned that quickly with the way Barry mewled and bucked up, latching on hotly in response, sucking hard and wet to leave a mark. Barry didn’t mind; it’d be gone by morning anyway, which he actually lamented. Finally he was with someone who wanted him as desperately as he wanted them, and he couldn’t even wear any badges of honor around. Probably for the best though.

Barry wanted to touch Len in return, so he moved his hands to Len’s back, to the edge of the sweater he’d borrowed yesterday and never changed out of, finding cool, smooth skin. As Len licked the rim of Barry’s ear, he felt the familiar tremor of losing control, his hands shaking, trembling—vibrating. 

Shit. 

He released Len and clenched his hands into fists to still the flux of power. 

“What’s wrong?” Len whispered, lifting up, one hand still up Barry’s shirt, trailing lazy, teasing circles over his skin. 

“N-Nothing, I just…uhh…well…” This was so embarrassing, Barry didn’t know how to say it. “See, I haven’t really done this—successfully—since becoming The Flash. When I get excited, I, um, sort of…” he closed his eyes; it was too mortifying, “vibrate.”

Len said nothing for a moment, his movements stilled, then his breath ghosted over Barry’s ear. “You vibrate?” he repeated, and god, why did that sound so dirty when he said it? “And why, Barry, is that a bad thing?”

Barry’s eyes sprang open at the question, staring at Len’s now amused expression when he pulled up to look at him again. “Because it could,” Barry realized how ridiculous this was as he said it, “give away that I’m The Flash. But you already know I’m The Flash. So…”

“So…why don’t we let things happen naturally, and see how we can put your…special talents,” Len said it like it was the most vulgar, wonderful thing in the world, “to good use.” And he grinned, sort of smirked, really, his tears forgotten and drying on his cheeks. He looked more like the confident Captain Cold that Barry was used to instead of nervous, blank-slate Len. 

It was unfairly hot. 

“How are your stitches?” Barry asked. 

Len’s expression dropped and he sat back, confused. The press of their hips tighter together from the shift in weight made Barry whimper. 

“I mean, ugnn…” he tried not to moan, “…do you think you can lie back without aggravating them?”

Instantly, the smirk returned to Len’s lips. “I think they’re healed enough for that. Not as tender anymore. Why?”

Barry returned the grin. So what if he hadn’t done this in a while—a long while. Maybe his vibrating really could be put to good use. It had certainly come in handy when he was alone. 

What had started as accidental had turned into common practice for him, the shake of his hand, the right amount of speed, how quickly he could get hard again afterwards, so much more reliably than any teenager could attest to. He’d just never thought he could share that strange part of himself with someone else, that he could ever share being The Flash.

Len was the only person Barry didn't have to wear a mask for.

In seconds, their positions were reversed, Len lying back on the sofa while Barry straddled him. He felt silly for having forgotten that he didn’t need to hide anything from Len. It sent a wonderful thrill shooting up his spine. 

He took a moment to just roll his hips, Len’s hard length sliding lewdly past his own beneath the sweats. He didn’t want to undress them yet. Despite planning to let his powers be of use along the way, he wanted most of this to go slow.

He held Len’s face in his hands and let his thumbs delicately wipe away the last traces of wetness from beneath his eyes. For a moment, Len’s charming, heated expression faltered, becoming instead the somber, tragic desperation Barry had seen too often since letting Len into his life. Nothing about this should be tragic.

Barry kept his hold on Len’s face as he kissed him, a brief, deep lick of his tongue between teeth, a soft bite at Len’s lower lip. He rolled his hips again, and Len shuddered beneath him. Barry dragged his nails back through Len’s hair, pressed his fingers deep to pull Len closer and plunge his tongue deeper too, long smooth strokes connecting them. 

A gentle rocking began, the cloth between them dulling the sensation just enough while the wetness gathering at their tips and soaking through several telling spots made Barry feverish for more than just that awful tease. 

He was tingling, trembling. Another surge of power thrummed through him and he used it to remove Len of his sweater, careful even in his speed of the stitches as he pulled the fabric over Len’s head. It was across the room before Len knew what had happened. He laughed a little, ever amazed with Barry and what he could do. 

Barry didn’t try to stop his hands from vibrating this time as he slid them down Len’s bare chest, around his back, hoisted him up slightly so he more so sat in Len’s lap and ground even harder against him. 

“We…n-need these pants off,” Len stuttered. 

“We’ll get there…” Barry promised. 

Len groaned, which fell from his lips low and deep, and settled in a long rumble. He pawed at Barry’s T-shirt, sliding it up with his cool hands dragging along the skin, pulling at the fabric until Barry played along, let him yank it up over his head and off. Len gripped Barry’s back with one arm, his right hand twisting into Barry’s hair and tugging him down, holding him in place to keep their lips connected, wet and messy and desperate. 

The constant roll of their hips had Barry panting, hyper aware and begging his speed to cooperate, to not go too fast where it counted. He focused the tremors into his hands, thinking of when he touched himself, how even when he lost control then he could keep some sense of direction in the vibrations. 

After minutes of sucking Len’s tongue into his mouth, and feeling just how hard they both were within their feverish rocking, he pushed Len away from him back into the cushions and slipped down between Len’s legs. Letting his vibrating hands feather down Len’s stomach as he moved, he lowered himself to press a kiss between Len’s hips, the sweatpants already tugged down low enough to reveal the finely carved grooves of Len’s hip bones. 

He was all power and strength, tense, tight muscle, in a way Barry had never been, especially before the accident. He wanted to run his hands over every dip and curve, map it out, worship Len a little. Len needed to know he was worthy of that. 

So for a few minutes, that’s exactly what Barry did. Sometimes his hands were still, sometimes shaking at flash speed, running firm and wanting over Len’s chest, stomach, and down his hips, but never past the barrier of the sweatpants. Barry teased at the possibility, even let his thumbs slip beneath the elastic several times as if he’d finally pull them down, but never followed through. 

“Fuck, kid…you gonna torture me all night?” Len huffed, his ice blue eyes hooded as he laid back and watched each careful movement of Barry’s hands. 

Barry licked his lips, flicked his eyes up to meet Len’s. Len’s legs were crooked up and spread open, Barry settled neatly between them, his head right there between Len’s thighs. The heady smell of Len was all around him. It was easy, too easy to lower his head and latch on to Len at the wet spot through the sweatpants and suck. 

“Fuck!” Len said again, neck arching from the sofa, both hands digging into Barry’s hair, tight, right at the edge of painful and hot as hell.

Barry liked to be teased, to have every moment drawn out until he was so wet, he dripped and soaked the sheets. He could feel the precum dribbling down his length now, offering those attentions to someone else. Len’s soft, shivering whimpers were the best validation Barry had ever heard. 

He slid his hands beneath Len’s thighs to brace himself, sucking harder through the fabric, letting it get sopping wet from his eager mouth. 

“Barry…” Len’s voice sounded pleading now, and when Barry looked up this time, Len’s pupils were so blown, his eyes looked black. They spoke of nothing but heat in their depths, and it made Barry grin, because Len had quite the smolder for someone called Captain Cold.

Barry moved his hands back up to Len’s waistband, teased his thumbs beneath the line of fabric again, but finally, this time slid the pants up and over and down Len’s strong thighs. Barry hadn’t quite caught a glimpse this intimate when he spied on Len in the shower, the other man having been turned away from him, but this new, glorious view made him wish he had something to grind against. The couch cushions were not enough in this position. But he had time to get there. 

His hands starting shaking again, so he braced them at the curve of Len’s hips where they connected to his thighs, and let them vibrate there as he descended, lips parting, gaze locked with Len’s the whole time until he sucked him in. 

Barry had never tried this before, but as he curled his tongue around Len and took him in deeper, he focused on vibrating his throat. His whole face and head moved at first, which worked, had the desired effect, but he focused his power until only the parts he wanted to vibrate were moving, concentrating the pulses right where he wanted. 

Len’s moan was long and loud and wonderfully low. He only managed a few moments like that before he was tugging at Barry’s hair, “It’s too…I c-can’t…Barry…” and fuck, his name had never sounded so lewd.

Barry broke away with a pop, his tremors stilling, even at his hands. He didn’t want Len to get too far ahead of him. He licked his lips again, grinning wide as he tugged Len’s sweats the rest of the way off, leaving him lying naked, spread out before him. 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Len said, chest heaving, hips subtly arching up at the loss of contact. 

Barry giggled a little, which sounded husky even to his own ears, maybe from the recent vibrating, maybe from just how much he was enjoying himself. “I warned you about the vibrating,” he said.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Len growled back. “I expected blushing inexperience from you, Barry, but I guess that was my mistake. I certainly didn’t expect…this.” He bobbed his eyebrows suggestively. 

Barry promptly flushed at the compliment. 

“There it is,” Len chuckled. 

“Hey,” Barry laughed bashfully back, “so maybe I wouldn’t call myself…experienced. And the blushing…I don’t always have control over that. But it doesn’t mean I can’t make up for my short comings with eagerness and a very, very deep-seated need to please. I’ve been told it’s one of my more endearing qualities.” His face was on fire even as he stretched his smile, taking in how Len was looking at him bemused now, watching him so closely right there between his legs. Barry felt the need to be rebellious. 

He licked a slick, wet strip up Len’s cock.

Len choked out another laugh, “Fuck” and pressed his head into the sofa. Then he hissed. 

Barry pulled up sharply. 

“I’m fine,” Len said, waving a hand limply, “lying back…is fine. Just remind me not to do that again. Come here…” 

Obligingly, Barry slithered up Len’s body between his legs until their faces were parallel again, Barry’s still clothed erection pressing purposely along Len’s naked skin. 

“Take your pants off…now,” Len ordered him, gruff and breathy and fuck, it made Barry’s hands start to vibrate again. “Slowly…” Len added, sliding his own hands between them so he could grasp Barry’s and still them until the tremors stopped. 

As slow as he could, keeping his eyes on Len, Barry lifted up, letting his knees rest on the cushion between Len’s thighs so he could reach down and pull the sweatpants off. He expected Len to do something about it as soon as the sweats were kicked to the floor, but instead he ran his hands up Barry’s stomach and across his pecks, down his shoulders, his sides, around his back, and then used that new grip to jerk him down into a sudden, harsher kiss. 

This was what Barry loved about Len, he thought—how he could be gentle but also rough, sweet but also fierce, redeemable…but still Cold. That’s what Barry held now: everything this man could be.

The moment Barry sank down into Len, and their slick, naked cocks slid past each other—skin on skin—for the first time, Barry felt his whole body speed up. He vibrated down to the tips of his toes, even his tongue as it coiled with Len’s within their kiss. He worried it was too much, too strange, but Len panted and groaned and murmured barely coherent up at him. 

“Barry…fuck, you’re…you’re amazing, shit…shit, yes…keep doing that, I…I…”

Barry slid a shaking hand to their cocks and wrapped his long fingers around them both. Len cried out, his hips stuttering sharp and fast and he was coming, adding a new wetness to their skin that was hot and silky, and only urged Barry on. 

Len urged him too, his voice raspy and breathless. “Ngnn…yeah, Barry, come on…come on, kid, come for me…”

Barry moaned now, the sound of Len’s voice more than he would ever need to get off. But he wasn’t there yet, not quite, and just as he thought he’d have to beg Len to touch him, the other man did just that. He pushed Barry’s hand away, replacing it with his own. All at once, Barry seemed to still, his vibrations tapering off to better feel Len’s hand, Len’s fingers curling possessively around him. 

“Short-comings, my ass,” Len groaned. Then his voice shifted, demanding, “Wait, wait…flip us over again, fast.”

Barry didn’t need to be asked twice. He flashed them back to the way they had been when this started, Barry laid back toward his end of the sofa, Len atop him, his grip on Barry lost for a moment in the whirlwind, but as soon as he regained his bearings, he took Barry in hand again. 

They’d made a mess of the couch and each other, but Barry didn’t care. Len was sat on his hips, his own still semi-hard cock resting heavy on Barry’s thigh, while he began to slowly stroke Barry. 

A wicked grin spread over his face as he shifted positions, moving his legs back off of Barry and using his free hand to nudge Barry’s knee. Barry thought he understood and pulled his knees up so that his feet were flush on the sofa. 

While Len stroked Barry with one hand, he swirled the other through the mess on his own stomach, slowly, teasingly over the tightly corded muscle, gathering as much of the wetness there as he could, before reaching for Barry’s balls beneath the base of his cock and sliding them smooth and easy to his entrance. 

Oh yes, Barry thought, that was exactly what he wanted. He was no stranger to the sensation when he touched himself, slipping in a finger or two, even three when the mood struck. The thought of Len’s fingers there made him moan before the first digit even pressed to the tight ring of muscle and slipped inside. 

“Yeah...yeah…” Barry moaned. 

“You like that?” Len whispered huskily, eyes dark and dancing. 

Barry nodded, biting his lip. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy the first time with someone new. It wasn’t supposed to be this hot, this mind-numbing, but then, Barry supposed, nothing about this was anything he would have expected a week ago. 

He felt so open having first watched Len’s release. The single digit wasn’t quite enough, so he kept nodding, nodded frantically. 

“Tell me what you want, Barry,” Len prompted him. 

“More…”

The second finger was a perfect burn. Len’s right hand had slowed somewhat, moving languidly over Barry’s cock in time with the twisting, come-hither thrusts of his fingers. Then he started picking up speed, and it amazed Barry that he didn’t do the same. He felt stilled and at peace in that moment with Len’s hands on him and in him, looking at him like he wanted to devour him whole, and Barry couldn’t imagine anything better. He had never felt so wanted. 

Faster. Faster. The tip of a third finger. And Barry came, Len’s name on his lips and stars behind his eyes. His pulse had to be at emergency room level for any normal person. In the aftermath he actually pulsed out one final rush of vibrations like an all over shudder, and moaned loudly at the ceiling. 

Len collapsed forward onto his chest, rumbling pleasant laughter. Barry hugged him there for a moment, held him, before the stickiness between them started to make him squirm. 

“Just…a second,” Barry huffed. 

And in a second, maybe closer to ten, Barry had cleaned them both and positioned them so that they could lie beside each other tucked into the sofa together. 

Len blinked awareness after a moment, noticing the change, and chuckled again. “Well aren’t you handy,” he said. 

“I think you were more the handy one a minute ago,” Barry snickered. 

Len looked at him and laughed full out, the smile lighting up his face in an expression that, for a brief moment, held nothing but bliss. 

Barry snuggled Len’s side, having placed himself on the inside of the sofa so he was the more squished of the two across the narrow cushions. He didn’t mind; he liked the close comfort, the heat and skin where they connected all the way down their clean but still sweat-slicked bodies. 

After a few moments, Len said, “You know…I lost my virginity to a boy like you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…tall, lanky, not this firm,” he said, tugging Barry close with the arm that was wrapped around his back over his shoulder, and running the other hand along Barry’s chest, “this…well-muscled, but all limbs and dimples.” 

Barry felt himself blush. The muscled part was newer for him, since becoming The Flash, but the rest he had never considered things someone would admire in him. He let his head rest on Len’s shoulder. “How old were you?” 

“Twenty-two,” Len answered plainly. 

“Really?” Barry lifted his head to gape at him. 

Len raised an eyebrow. “That surprising?” 

Several of Barry’s insecurities suddenly faded. “More like…refreshing. I guess I wasn’t expecting it.”

“How old were you?” Len asked. 

Barry dropped his head back onto Len’s shoulder so he wouldn’t see him cringe. “Sixteen. And it was a huge mistake. Not the right girl, or the right time. I didn’t sleep with another person until I was almost twenty,” he huffed at the memory. “Which…also a huge mistake. I have a terrible track record for liking the wrong people.” 

“You think so, huh?” Len said, but there was a smile in his voice. 

Barry blinked over at him, meeting bright, sparkling blue. “Maybe I’m getting better at it,” he smiled. “But you remember that, huh? Your first time?” 

Len’s smile dropped, and for a moment Barry thought there was a shadow behind his eyes, something dark and regretful. “Yeah…”

“Remember anything else?” Barry prompted. He didn’t want Len thinking that was a bad thing. Clearly, it wasn’t, if they had gotten this far. 

Len looked up at the ceiling. “No…”

It didn’t seem the right answer, but Len sounded sad now, and Barry didn’t want their last moments before they succumbed to sleep to be sad. 

He reached for Len’s face, and when Len looked at him, moisture filled Len's eyes, like a dozen emotions were roiling through him at once. So Barry kissed him, hoping to quell the storm. It was chaste and simple—sweet. A press of lips, so different from what they’d just shared, but maybe even more intimate. 

Len sighed against Barry’s lips when they parted. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Barry said. It was silly, too dismissive a statement, not nearly enough to encompass what Barry really meant, how he felt. He fell hard and fast whenever he wanted someone, but this was a new record, especially where successes were concerned. Still, he really meant those words.

It must have been enough for Len, at least, because a tear streaked down his cheek before he pressed his lips to Barry’s again. “Me too.”

XXXXX

When Barry roused the second time, it was from a sense of cold, of absent heat rather, and he rolled over in search of it and almost toppled onto the floor. He awoke just in time to catch himself, gasping awake from being so startled. 

He was still naked, not even covered by the blanket that had probably fallen off…assuming they’d even managed to pull it over themselves before falling asleep. He couldn’t actually remember. He grinned as the previous night washed over him. 

Len must have gone to the bathroom, which was probably a good thing, because now that Barry thought of it, he really needed to pee himself, and he needed to check the clock. If he didn’t take care of the camera footage in time, Cisco and Caitlin were in for a very rude awakening. Maybe he could save the footage onto his phone for…personal viewing later. He snickered at the thought. 

Standing up with a long stretch, he scratched his nails back through his hair. He felt more relaxed and happy than he had in longer than he cared to remember. 

“Len!” he called. “Do you know what time it is? I don’t think we want to be like this when Caitlin and Cisco show up.” He laughed a little to himself. “I just hope Cisco wasn’t proactive about watching any footage this morning.”

He blinked around the room. The lights were on, probably from Len getting up. But as the moments stretched on, Barry focused on the exit to the bathroom. Len hadn’t responded. 

“Len!” he called again, louder, wondering if maybe the man had decided to shower already. 

A small, troubled feeling in the pit of his stomach curdled with the answering silence. 

“Len?” Barry spun around. The lounge, the whole area felt eerily quiet. 

As always, he could see the labs from the lounge through the glass walls. He peered more closely, searching, trying to make sense of the panic that was building. The main room was a ways away, but close enough that he could clearly see…that the Cold gear was no longer piled up neatly where they had left it. And the terminals, the screens, everything…was covered in ice. 

Barry whirled back around, his gut clenching, twisting, eyes darting around the room, not believing what he’d just seen, seeking out some sign, any sign that Len was still here. He had to be…

Instead, Barry’s gaze fell upon a note left in the middle of the coffee table. 

A howl erupted as he reacted at lightning speed, moving so fast in his fury that no normal human eyes could have caught him as he slammed his fists down into the glass with such momentum that it shattered. The deafening crash of broken glass filled the room, too loud even tumbling into carpet. 

Barry’s hands shook, stuck with glass and bleeding, hot tears streaking down his face as he snarled down upon the note lying amidst the broken remnants of the coffee table. 

_Thanks for the ride, Scarlet._

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment with Barry shattering the coffee table, which was why it had to be glass, and Len's note...this was one of the scenes I knew in detail from the beginning. More soon.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Len in the aftermath.

Barry sat on the hospital bed he’d spent so much time on over the past few months—longer when he was still in the coma—and that Len had rested on only a few days prior. He wouldn’t lie back. Refused to when Caitlin told him it would be easier, just sat sideways on it facing her while she reopened the wounds on his hands that had already closed around the glass, trying to heal. 

It hurt, he supposed, but he didn’t flinch through any of it. The physical pain was grounding. Better than everything else he was feeling. 

He had stood too long in front of the smashed coffee table after destroying it so thoroughly, not bothering to clean his hands until his metabolism kicked in and tried to heal over the embedded chunks. He’d eventually pulled his sweats and T-shirt back on, but had little motivation for much else until he heard Cisco and Caitlin coming.

Then he’d just stood in the labs, waiting for them to enter, to notice the ice coating so much of the room; the terminals, the screens. Some of it was melting now, but the damage was done.

Cisco had whipped out his tablet as soon as he saw it all, but of course he hadn’t been alerted of anything. Cold had made sure of that when he iced everything. The footage would still be there, but the direct connection had been interrupted—no safeguard to alert Cisco when Cold left the labs that morning. No way for any of them to know. 

They should have planned for that, for ways Cold could have foiled their precautions, but Barry had been too trusting, so certain it wouldn’t matter. 

He hadn’t known what to say to them, how to explain, so he was sure he’d rambled and muttered, looking mussed and battered, his hands bloody with red smudges on his clothes from putting them on without tending to his wounds first. 

They’d raced around him, quickly finding the state of the lounge, the smashed coffee table, assuming he and Cold had fought. They’d insisted on calling Joe even after Barry explained that he’d done that to the coffee table himself. Cold was gone when he woke up, it didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. But maybe he was still muttering, maybe he hadn’t explained right. He couldn’t think, let alone explain any of this when he didn’t understand it himself.

Joe was there in minutes, bursting onto the scene before Caitlin had finished with Barry's first hand. Cisco had managed to save one of the terminals already, as it hadn’t been as fully covered in ice, but he still routed things through his tablet for easier viewing. He accessed the security footage, starting it from last night. 

Barry sat there, non-committal in his answers to what had happened, worrying Joe, all of them, more than he meant to, as Caitlin finished fishing the glass out of the last of his stubborn skin. She patted his hand gently, spoke comforting words, but he wasn’t listening. He was watching Cisco in one of the chairs, looking at the footage on the tablet, Joe hovering over his shoulder. Caitlin soon moved to join them, to see…

Barry tried to open his mouth, tried to warn them, but he couldn't say the words—not those words. In too short a time, he saw the way Cisco's eyes widened, his hand jabbing at the pause button, probably when things first started getting heated. Then he fast forwarded, eyes darted away but having to glance up continuously to know when to stop, a deep blush creeping across his cheeks. 

Caitlin actually gasped and held a hand to her mouth. Joe just looked sad, shook his head, turned away for Barry’s sake, probably fighting to not look disappointed, as he waited for Cisco to indicate that that part of the night was over.

Barry just wanted to throw up.

"Well, uhh...he slept. Woke up about half an hour before you, Barry, then got…got dressed, and..." He paused it, looking over at Barry to indicate he could watch now, if he wanted. 

Barry didn't want to, but he knew he didn’t have much choice. He stood slowly, glacially for him, and peered at the screen from behind the others. It felt like some cruel joke, watching the figure of Cold, dressed once again in his black sweater and thin snow pants, moving around the footage stoically, precise. He gathered the rest of his things, put on his gloves, his parka, the goggles around his neck, but not up over his eyes since the strap would cross right over the stitches. This was the only thing that seemed to get a reaction from him, a small sneer tugging at his expression. 

He was meticulous with how he iced the labs, never faltering, never pausing to consider. When he was done, he stopped back in the lounge to drop the note on the coffee table and looked at Barry. 

At Barry…lying naked across the sofa, curled into the back of it, starting to shiver from being left alone, and unaware just yet why everything felt so cold…

Then Cold turned to face the camera, looked right at it, and with a painfully familiar smirk, gave them all a short salute. He turned and left without looking back.

Barry was crying. He could feel the tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, but he was so angry, he felt strangely numb in his fury. 

How could he? How could he...

Barry's feet tripped backwards, carrying him to the lounge before he'd consciously made the decision to move. His sneakers crunched on the glass as soon as he came around the sofa. He didn't care. He sat, falling forward onto his thighs, head in his hands, as he cried and breathed raggedly through it, hands shaking even tightened into fists gripping his hair.

He heard Joe before he saw him, before he felt the depression of the cushions next to him. God, why had Barry even sat here? How could Joe sit here after…?

A warm hand slid across his back, undeterred.

“Please don’t say anything…” Barry sniffed, thinking of the last time they were in this mess, only now it was so much worse.

_“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”_

_“But I did say I told you so. Repeatedly.”_

Barry couldn’t handle that again, not this time, not after succumbing so much more fully, being so certain, so invested. 

“I know I…f-fucked up. I am such an idiot.” His breath stuttered and wheezed—he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face. 

Joe’s hand stayed on his back, rubbing soothing circles, then slid to his shoulder and tugged him against his side. Barry let his hands drop away, lifted his head and pressed the side of it to Joe’s chest, the sobs wracking his body, shaking him all over almost as if he were…

No. He didn’t want to think about how his body could move, and forced himself to be still. It just made him think of last night, rising bile in his throat like he might be sick all over the ruins of glass. 

“Can I say one thing?” Joe said softly into the top of his hair. 

Barry braced himself, not wanting to hear it, but then Joe said…

“I’m sorry, Barry. I really am.”

Somehow that just made it worse. Barry keened pitifully, clinging to Joe, sniffling through his words. “Why did I…believe him, Joe? God, how…how could I let him get that close? I just don’t get what he was after. All that just to…just to mess with me?” It was too monstrous. He knew what Cold was, the things he’d done, but he’d never thought the man capable of using him like that. 

“Barry…you think it was all an act? That he planned this all along?”

“Why not? It’s what you thought in the beginning, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Joe conceded, “but Barry…this was different than last time. He was different. Even I saw that. He must have remembered. Maybe it was too much for him. Maybe he panicked.”

He had been panicking, Barry remembered, when he woke up from his nightmare. He’d been panicked enough to beg Barry to help him forget. Had that been an act, or the truth and it just simply wasn’t enough in the end? Barry honestly didn’t know which was worse. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “he still left, he still…destroyed the labs, and…and left me here…”

Naked. Used. Alone…

“He left me like none of it even mattered.”

“Barry…” Joe’s voice was a thousand shades of broken and mournful for his sake, near tears himself for how much Barry was bawling. Joe had never been able to handle him or Iris in tears, almost always succumbed himself when it was something that mattered. And there had been so many things to cry about over the years. It didn’t seem fair. 

Joe didn’t say anything more, not until Barry had cried everything he had left in him to release. Even then, Barry’s breath hitched as they stood from the sofa. The lounge was such a mess. Barry didn’t want to think about cleaning it up, even though the debris of the coffee table had been his fault. 

The only thing he’d managed to do was grab up the note from the shards and tear it into pieces that now littered the floor. He’d gotten twice as much glass in his hands from that. He just hadn’t wanted to look at it, at the brazen cruelty of the words. 

If it hadn’t been an act from the beginning, Len was clearly nothing but Captain Cold now. 

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you home,” Joe said, leading Barry out of the lounge, arm tight around him, hugging him to his side. “You’re taking a sick day. I already called it in. I’ll drive you.”

It was more than Barry deserved right now. If the precinct needed him, he had to be on call. He couldn’t wallow in his sorrows over this. He was a CSI, The Flash, he had responsibilities. But the thought of going home and crawling under the covers for a while was too appealing. 

As they passed by Cisco and Caitlin in the labs checking over the monitors and what they could salvage, Barry looked at them and tried to smile at least a little, knowing he had to look wrecked and pathetic. 

“Call me if anything comes up, okay?” he said to them. “I mean it. I just want to sleep for a while, but…The Flash doesn’t get sick days. Call me.”

“We will,” Caitlin assured him, her own doleful smile like an extra punch to the gut. “And we’ll clean all this up, Barry. You don’t have to worry.”

Only Cisco betrayed the same anger on his face that Barry was feeling. Oh, Barry was sure Joe was furious, but he was good at holding that back, showing the face Barry needed to see. Cisco, though, looked tense, his lips pressed tight together as he frowned. 

“I’m going to keep looking through the footage once I can access the other cameras,” he said. “We’ll figure out which way he went.”

Barry didn’t care where Cold had gone, but he couldn’t argue just now. He nodded, looked to Caitlin to nod at her as well, grateful for both of them but so tired, so worn. He turned and trudged out of the labs with Joe.

XXXXX

Barry would hate him now. It wasn't what Len had wanted. Not initially. 

Back before, in the bank, the warehouse, and long before both, Len had just wanted something to break through the monotony, something exciting and new. He'd recognized after the meta incident that he would need to play nice occasionally or risk pushing the kid over the edge and disrupting their already uneasy understanding. But then he'd hit his head...and everything had gone to shit.

He pulled the parka closer around him, shivering as he slipped through back alleys, and not because it was chilly. He hadn't been able to shake the tremors ever since...since he left. He hid himself in the coat; it was never something he hid in.

He felt nauseous, sick. Deep down, Len just wanted to throw up, sleep this off, and take a long shower to erase the last traces of the kid from his skin…

But oh, it had been good. Best he'd had in so long, probably his whole damn loveless life, the way the kid could move, the way he put himself all-in, even blushing and second guessing himself. A small vicious part of Len wanted to feel Barry come apart under his touch, sink himself into him again and again, but sharp not tender, claiming not losing himself in Barry's loving looks half the time the way he had last night.

Fuck. Len needed to get off the streets, needed to think this through, plan. This problem wouldn't go away. Barry was the city's paragon now; he'd always be there. Len wanted him there, he reminded himself, for the challenge, the fun—and he could use that. Use Barry. This could still be what he'd planned in the beginning, nothing had to change. 

But well...if he could convince the kid to go another round with him from time to time, enjoy his skin and intoxicating vibrations, Len could bury the rest of whatever this was in that.

Yes. That's what he'd do, that's what he had to do. He needed a return to normalcy, and he wanted that, he did...

Len was both disappointed and relieved when he walked through the door to the last safe house he'd seen his sister at to find her waiting for him. Come home, she’d said. He should have guessed that was wherever they were last squatting. It’s all that word had ever meant to them. 

She tossed him a pleased but also curious smile, one eyebrow raised to mirror his own familiar expression as she rose from the small couch to meet him. 

“All dolled up and no place to go, Lenny?” she said with a smirk. 

He walked past her to place the cold gun on the table then started to remove his gloves and parka. “I didn’t have another change of clothes, sis,” he said.

“Seemed you did to me,” she snarked back. 

The tremor gripped him instantly.

He grabbed his hand to keep it from shaking, stayed turned away from Lisa and clutched it to his chest. Damn it, not again. 

“I felt it would be in poor taste to keep a memento. Things didn’t go as planned.” He finished setting his things on the table, removed the goggles as well. He wanted out of the sweater, pants, and boots from his gear. They felt constrictive today, suffocating. 

“What’s this?” Lisa said, closer behind him suddenly, her hand ghosting along the stitch job that Barry—The Flash—had so carefully done for him. 

“Hazard of the job. Nothing to concern yourself with,” Len said. She hadn’t gotten a good look at it the other night in the labs, dark and mostly always facing him head on. The wound didn’t bother him anymore anyway, unless he pressed down on it like he had last night...

Lisa’s hand dropped away. “What do you mean things didn’t go as planned? What did you do?” Her tone betrayed only the slightest worry, something anyone who didn’t know her would have missed. 

“Don’t you worry, dear sister, poor, innocent Cisco is quite safe.” He steeled himself, certain he could keep his mask in place as he whirled to face her. “Just don’t expect any fruit baskets from Team Flash any time soon. I may have iced their home base before I made my exit. You know how terrible The Flash is at keeping his cool. Probably all broken up about it.”

The tremors started to work back into his right hand, so he clenched it into a tight fist. 

Lisa noticed—damn her, she always noticed. She frowned at him and crossed her arms. “What aren’t you telling me, Lenny? You have a wound you never mentioned, you were all vague the other night, now you’re acting strange. Tense. I know when you’re hiding something.”

It wasn’t that Len wanted to lie, he hated lying to Lisa, he just didn’t have the energy to explain what had really happened. Not yet. What did it matter anyway? He was back now, himself. Nothing that had happened with Barry meant a damn—

“Len!” Lisa grabbed his arm.

Why wouldn’t it stop shaking? And why…why was his vision tunneling? 

Len sucked in a breath; everything was going dark, and he felt like…like he couldn’t breathe.

He blinked and he was on the floor, leaned back against the table with Lisa crouched in front of him, holding either side of his face. Her concern was plain now, vibrant in her blue eyes. Her voice sounded distant, faint, until it blared to life and he realized she was yelling. 

“Len!”

“I’m…I’m fine,” he tried to say just as loudly back, but it came out breathy, stunted. 

“Fine, my ass,” Lisa growled. “What the hell was that? I haven’t seen you like that since we were—” She cut off as Len’s gaze sharpened on her. They didn’t speak of it. They never spoke of it. “Lenny,” she said gently, which sounded too weird to his ears now from this adult, harder—tougher—Lisa, “what happened to you? Do you need a hospital? Because I will personally threaten to make golden statues out of everyone at St. Andrews if—”

“I’m fine,” Len said more firmly, grabbing both her wrists since she wouldn’t let go of his face. “I’m fine.”

It had just been too much. So little sleep. The rush of memories last night and even worse in the morning. Knowing that he needed to get out of S.T.A.R. Labs quickly, clean break, leave everything behind with no doubt in Barry’s or the others’ minds about who and what he really was. Len didn’t need the kid trying to come after him on some pointless crusade to save his soul. 

“You were right,” Len said, nodding pitifully. He let his hands drop as Lisa’s did the same. “Got my head turned around. Got in too deep. I won’t make that mistake again. I just need to shake this off, get solid ground under me, show The Flash where we stand with each other. I’ll be fine.”

Lisa didn’t seem to believe him. Pivoting where she was crouched, she dropped down fully onto the floor, leaning back against the table beside him. Their shoulders brushed from the proximity. “You sure it’s a good idea to face The Flash so soon? Maybe you need a break, Lenny. You’re burnt out. You don’t suffer injuries too often either.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Len said, reaching up to touch the stitches before thinking better of it. He let his hands rest between his bent legs, staring straight ahead. Lisa’s constant stare was penetrating. 

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” she finally asked, all pretense and playfulness gone. 

Len took a breath. At least he could breathe again, and didn’t feel like his pulse was out of control or like his hands would resume shaking. But then it kept sneaking up on him—that foreign, old feeling of panic. “Later,” he said, and while the word came out short, he glanced aside at her to say he really would, he just…couldn’t right now. 

“Okay,” she sighed. “Then what do you need, Lenny? What can I do?”

Len thought for a moment. He still wanted what he’d thought of initially; a shower, change of clothes, but not rest. He needed to be active, to do something that let him feel the chill of his cold gun racing through his veins. 

He grinned as an idea struck him. “Who owes us money?”

Lisa coughed a laugh. “Who doesn’t? Feel like hurting someone?”

Len tightened his hands in and out of fists. 

“Well then,” Lisa rolled to her feet with the nimble grace of a dancer and held a hand down to him. He grasped it gratefully and let her hoist him to his feet. “I can think of some worthy opponents. Mick’s been getting restless too. He’s at the safe house on 9th. Want me to call him?”

“Yes,” Mick would do wonders for helping Len feel like himself again, “and tell him he won’t have to hold anything back today. I feel like being destructive.”

XXXXX

A shower really did feel amazing. Wearing his already dirtied gear hadn’t been fun to begin with, and Len's skin had still been sticky with dried sweat from the night’s activities when he woke up. 

He turned the water cool to keep himself alert. He almost forgot to watch his stitches as he washed the short buzz of his hair, and hissed when he rubbed across them.

The pulse of pain, the water flowing over his skin, making him break out in goosebumps, as he closed his eyes…did nothing to prevent him from remembering recent events with a shower included—the view of Barry pulling boxer briefs up over his toned thighs, long and lean and beautiful; the heat in Barry’s eyes watching him through the break in the shower curtain; the sound of Barry's voice echoing through the bathroom. 

_You got away…_

Len shook his head. He hadn't gotten away with anything.

He pounded a fist against the tile. He just needed time. He’d shake this off. He’d done it a thousand times before. It hadn’t meant anything, that time at S.T.A.R. Labs, tended to by his far too trusting, doe-eyed nemesis. Not a god damn thing. 

Oh, he’d run his hands over that constantly renewable skin again if he got the chance, so unfairly soft; depress his fingers along Barry’s hips, lie him back—fuck, Len groaned at the faintest thought. The cold water did nothing to prevent the stiffness growing between his legs as he vividly pictured Barry spread out beneath him.

He conjured new images to banish the ones that made him feel like his gut would twist in two; thought of Barry on his knees, Len’s black-gloved hand in his hair; Barry bent over the table in the safe house, facing away from him, whimpering as his cheek pressed against the surface; Barry’s face furious with anger…even as he let Len take him, and claim him, and ruin him…

It wasn’t hard to get off to that, stroking himself firm and fast, imagining Barry’s hand, knowing the feel of it intimately now and how it could vibrate against his skin. Barry’s mouth on him, sucking through fabric, then bare, his throat moving obscenely, swallowing Len whole.

“Fuck,” Len ground out as he remembered, trying to think of what he’d conjured instead, taking Barry harshly, keeping it brutal, impersonal, instead of remembering last night…and the way Barry had kissed him so sweetly at the end.

Len pounded the tile again as he came, Barry’s smile in his mind’s eyes, not a furious snarl, and damn it, how was he supposed to get untwisted from the kid when he’d looked at him like that?

Len wasn’t shaking when he got out of the shower, dressed in his nicest blue suit and trench coat—no parka today. He was calm, in control. He’d gotten one more thing out of his system, and it would get easier, it would, it had to—especially once he iced some deserving lowlifes. 

Len frowned as he remembered that the gun was friendlier now, the effects of the ice reversible at any setting. No matter. It would still hurt like hell, and the damage still permanent without fast treatment. A shot to the head would probably still kill most people—suffocate them at least. He’d work around it. Besides, the new programming would make things easier when he wanted to use the gun for persuasion rather than pain.

Once he was finished straightening his tie, he joined Lisa in the main room, who had changed into her leather coat, curled her hair all perfectly coiffed around her shoulders, and was applying a new coat of lipstick. Always look good for a job. He grinned at her.

“Mick on his way?”

“With bells on,” she winked.

Len explained about the changes to his gun as he picked it up, handling it lovingly. He didn’t want either Lisa or Mick to be caught unaware. But even neutered, the gun still made him feel powerful and whole.

“With Cisco?” Lisa pouted. “I’m jealous. You’ve spent more time with him than I have now. You better have some juicy details to share later, Lenny.”

Len faltered for a moment, almost dropping the gun, as he thought of Cisco—his friendly banter, the Bones T-shirt, _‘If we’re the good guys, than we should be willing to help anyone’_ —before tucking it away inside his trench coat. Len didn’t want to think about him either.

“You know, you don’t have to tell me Flash’s identity to spill a little on what it was like spending three whole days with him and his crew,” Lisa went on, but the teasing prompt was coupled with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and when he looked at her, her eyebrows curved downward…like Barry’s, maybe more like Caitlin’s with the feminine arch. 

No, she was Dr. Snow, not Caitlin. This couldn't be personal. Longing was dangerous. Len couldn’t risk it, and neither could Lisa. They’d gotten stronger for a reason, so that nothing could ever wedge itself into their hearts again and tear them down.

“Just play it cool today, sis,” Len said, “and see if you earn those juicy details. Ramon would be so easy to twist around your finger, you have no idea. But make sure he stays a gentleman or we’ll need to have words.” He patted the gun beneath his coat.

Lisa huffed, but Len knew she loved his protective streak. Her downturned brows finally rose upward. “Spoil sport,” she grinned. 

“Brat.”

There. That was more like them.

They had some people to muscle. That would banish the ache, replace it with something familiar, something better. Len was feeling wonderfully homicidal at the moment. 

He heard the door to the safe house open and knew that Mick had joined them.

“Wonderful. Now come on, friends. Let’s go have some fun.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to add Mick to the tags, since he'll be in the next chapter. I hadn't initially planned to include him, but so much has changed. And I've started to really love Mick for some reason. 
> 
> My thoughts are that Len continued to have Cold bleed-through during the sex, but once they were done, it was all Cold with only a little of the sweet Len bleeding through. After sleeping, what little remained of that Len, he tried to brush off and be, well, as cold as he had to, to get out of there. But there is still something that happened after he first left the labs that will come to light several chapters from now...
> 
> More soon! You all make my dark fangirl heart so happy!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being back in action doesn't go as Len plans, so he plans something better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how you can be writing one chapter, but have your head totally on the next one? I'm just really excited for what comes next, especially with how the story has decided to take a huge left turn from what I planned up until...well, days ago, but suddenly I realized what had to happen to make this turn out the way I wanted. 
> 
> I had to get this one to you guys quickly, since I have a busy weekend ahead, and won't get to write as much, but I'm sure I'll find time to work on the next one soon. :-) You are all so amazing! Thanks for sticking with this!
> 
> I'm getting ready for my next book release literally a week from TODAY, and I have been so stressed finalizing the cover art and getting ready, this fic really hits the spot. ;-)
> 
> Also, check me out at http://crimsondomingo.tumblr.com/ if you like. It's not all coldflash, though it's certainly been alot of that lately, lol.

Several small crime families had reared their heads with displays of power in the wake of what happened with the Santinis. Len had even bankrolled a few, just to stir things up, see who came out on top, who had the potential to keep things fun. Len preferred having a hand in everything that went on in his city. 

But some people…some people never learned. Some people took one look at Len and Lisa Snart, even if Mick was looming beside them, and thought they could be dismissed, all talk, just two pretty faces with grand words and gestures that weren’t to be taken seriously—like they were laughable. 

Len always laughed along…right up until he shot someone in the face.

So it wasn’t surprising that some of those families that owed him for their current rise to power in certain neighborhoods had gotten cocky, thinking maybe they didn’t need to pay him back, keep him looped in to what they were doing, who they were hitting, or how much money they were pulling. Just bad sportsmanship, really.

The Mendozas were the mark Len decided on though. He didn’t like the way the oldest son had eyed Lisa the last time they were in the family’s company. Apparently he’d informed Lisa while Len was…away the past few days that if she wanted their money she’d have to come in person to claim it. Len intended to take up that challenge. 

Len, Lisa, and Mick against a two story building—garage for dismantling hot cars on the bottom, and offices and storerooms for gun trafficking at the top—with a good dozen men inside, all armed. It was Len’s kind of fun, and his favorite odds; he liked to spread the love around. 

And just their luck, there were only three exits on the bottom floor, so the men unlucky enough to be downstairs had nowhere to run when they entered all at once from all sides. 

They had exactly nine minutes, forty-five seconds to take the building before CCPD would be on their way once fire started spreading—and it would. A fire station was only a few blocks down, and this was not the kind of neighborhood that sort of thing went unchecked, especially in the middle of the day. 

Len iced the arm of the first man who pulled a gun—he screamed. Glorious. 

“I’m here to see your boss,” Len announced as he trained his cold gun on the next guy over, the one he’d shot falling to his knees in agony, while two others raised their hands in the air at the sight of Lisa and Mick. “I heard he’s planning to keep all my cold hard cash for himself. Now I just think that’s a little frigid, don’t you?” he smirked. God, he’d missed this. 

The idiot in Mick’s sights tried to run for it. Bad idea. Mick roared and set him ablaze in seconds. The sight of the man on fire, whirling about wildly in attempts to save himself…settled something oddly sour in Len’s stomach. He iced the guy to put him out. Wouldn’t want to risk him setting any of them on fire, after all.

“Anyone else?” Len asked, raising an eyebrow that only just arched above his shades. He couldn’t wear the goggles until his stitches dissolved, but the blue-tinted sunglasses looked better with his suit and trench anyway. 

The last two men remained stationary, eyeing the Rogues warily. Finally, one of them shouted, “Upstairs! Last door on the left!”

“Much obliged,” Len called, and made to ice the man’s legs. 

Lisa fired first, turning him into a hardened statue. Len’s gut clenched. 

The final man sprinted toward him, apparently deciding that his gun was the lesser of three evils. Len fired at the floor, causing the man to slip and tumble, and as he slid swiftly closer, Len sidestepped and kicked him in the face on his way past, knocking him out cold. Then Len marched around the patch of ice he’d left behind and jabbed the butt of his gun into the face of the man still howling over his frozen arm. 

When Len looked up at Mick and Lisa, they were eyeing each other curiously. 

“Come on,” Len snarled, storming past them for the stairs. “Seven minutes, fifteen seconds. I’m saving the real fun for Mendoza.”

A small part of Len feared that his hands would start to shake even while holding his cold gun, as he stomped up the stairs, fully expecting those on the floor above to have heard the commotion and be ready with weapons aimed at the door. But the tremors didn’t appear, and as long as they stayed gone, he clung to the thrill of that icy jolt up his arms. Even if his chest felt hollow. 

He pressed himself to the side of the door, which remained closed, the kind that opened inward, while Lisa mirrored him on the other side, and Mick stood in the center, preparing to kick it in and unleash Hell. Len nodded to him. 

Mick’s heavy boot smashed into the door, tearing it open, as he fired his gun with a howl and walked forward, daring anyone to be in his path. Len and Lisa followed closely behind. There was a wall to their right all the way along the side of the building, their left opening up into a larger space, with a hallway and several doors across the room. 

Len took quick stock of two men already burning, their guns clattered to the floor, as he and the others made for the hallway. Nothing incriminating in the larger room in case any unwanted police or feds stopped by. The guns would be in the back, meaning the remaining men would be even better armed. 

Six minutes. 

Last door on the left, the man downstairs had said. Len believed his fear to have offered up the truth, and told Lisa to gold the other doors as they moved down the hallway behind Mick, who had since stopped firing, saving his next shot for something breathing. 

There were doors on either side of the hallway, and as they neared the last, Len glanced back at the room they had left, seeing the men Mick had ignited, twitching and smoldering on the floor. Len felt his breath catch, but clenched his teeth. He had to keep his head in the game. 

He turned back, nodding to Lisa to gold the last door on the right as they turned for the left where Mendoza Junior should be waiting, but before she could fire, the door on the right burst open with a spray of bullets into the wall, just barely missing her. Mick’s meaty hand jerked out to grab Lisa by the scruff of her leather jacket and pulled her back with them out of the line of fire. 

Len raised his gun in anger to ice whoever had dared shoot his sister, but when Mick, in front of him still, blazed through the entrance with his fire, Len found himself almost calling out for him to stop. It was the smell, the screams—it called too much attention, he told himself, but then he had been the one who said Mick wouldn’t have to hold back today, who’d planned out their timing based on fire spreading through the building. 

“Lenny,” Lisa hissed at him, breathing hard after the shootout and glaring down at the shoulder of her jacket that had a tear from a glancing bullet. 

Len was just standing there. He’d frozen in place while Mick enacted vengeance on his behalf. Not that Mick hadn’t done that before, barrel on ahead before Len could give the okay, but this was different; Len wasn’t thinking straight. It all seemed well and good when he was icing someone, but Mick and Lisa’s guns were still…

Still lethal. Fuck. 

Four minutes, twenty seconds. 

Mick returned from the room on the right with a manic expression, ready for more, practically huffing in elation, the screams already dying from inside as the room spread with flames. They didn’t have much time before the building would be dangerous—and bringing Central City’s finest. 

Len steeled himself. “Mendoza’s mine,” he said, and readied his gun, indicating for Lisa to throw the door open. 

Whatever bodyguard was waiting when she turned the knob, he got a chest full of ice for his troubles. Len pressed on inside, eyes keenly surveying the room, taking stock in moments of how many opponents, how they were armed, and blasting them with ice before a single shot could be fired. Medoza’s men had semi-automatics, but it didn’t mean a damn thing against Captain Cold. 

The man himself pressed back into the corner of the room, a custom Beretta too pretty to have been used as much as the man probably pretended, aimed at Len’s head. 

“I guess the real question is whether or not you want to lose that arm, friend?” Len nodded at the Beretta, cold gun raised, feeling Mick and Lisa enter behind him and take positions on either side. 

Medoza’s men were moaning and whimpering on the floor, with their various ice wounds, but still alive. Len found himself watching Mick and Lisa in his periphery, wondering if they’d put the guys out of their misery, and his chest burned a little that he hoped they didn’t.

Len put the focus back on Mendoza who looked torn between firing and throwing himself to the floor. “Don't give me the cold shoulder now,” Len took a step forward, pointing with his gun, “lose the piece.”

With a huff, Mendoza threw it to the floor. “My father—” he started.

“Will probably consider this the icing on the cake after the last neighborhood you lost him,” Len interrupted. “I doubt he’ll shed a tear.”

Mendoza darted for the window at his left, probably thinking he could risk the two story fall if only he could reach it. His feet getting frozen to the floor prevented that and he let out a sharp cry as he toppled over from the momentum. 

The smell of smoke was strong now, the faint sound of sirens in the distance. One hundred and nineteen seconds. 

Len’s stomach plummeted after checking his watch and seeing that particular number. 

He shook his head, approaching Mendoza steadily. “If you wanted to break the ice with my sister, you should have thought of a nicer way,” he said, crouching on the floor beside the man, but careful not to scuff his dress pants; he liked this suit. He pointed the cold gun in Mendoza’s face. “You also should have given me my money.”

The whir of Len’s gun was sweet music, but being this close, about to ice the guy in the face, that even if it didn’t kill him instantly, would still make him dead before the police or firefighters could do anything about it…didn’t fill Len with the euphoria he wanted. He felt numb and strange, and in his moment of hesitation, Mendoza batted the cold gun from his hands. 

Len had never been disarmed that easily in his life. He snarled, snatching up the man’s own Berretta from the floor as he stood and fired point blank between Mendoza’s eyes. Len’s left hand immediately started shaking. 

“Lenny,” Lisa hissed, only this time it was with worry, not accusation, as her hand slipped into his, stilling his tremors. “We’re out of time.”

They were. Thirty seconds. They had to get out of the building. 

Len picked his cold gun up off the floor, decided to keep the Berretta—it was covered in his fingerprints anyway—and tucked it into his trench. His expression was stone, ice, as they made their way swiftly back through the hallway, through the main room sparking with the remains of the men there, and down the stairs to the bodies of the others—a few, at least, that would get to wake up. 

But as they burst out of the door to the back alley to follow the escape route they’d planned, Mick turned and ignited the building behind them. 

“No!” Len called before he knew what he was doing. 

Mick didn’t hear him over the roar of the flames, but Lisa did, right there beside him, arms circling around his elbow to hold him back from…from what? Stopping Mick? These lowlifes didn’t mean anything to Len, what did he care if the rest of them burned? He’d done things like this a million times. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter. 

But all Len could think as he watched the building burn, as Lisa tugged him down the alley, the pair of them with Mick, racing away from the sirens…

Was how much Barry would be disappointed in him. 

All the way back to the safe house Barry’s smile swam in Len’s mind, his blushes, and sweet downturned eyebrows. The way he rambled, and stuttered, and constantly, constantly rubbed the back of his head and neck when he was nervous. The kid was trusting, and caring, and so damn forgiving. All he wanted was for Len to stop killing, stop letting innocent people get hurt…because he was better than that, wasn’t he? Not just more talented and clever—he was better than that.

But he wasn’t. Talented and clever enough to avoid it, absolutely. Len got no pleasure from hurting innocents going about their daily lives, not unless they got in his way. But some people, some people he should be able to ice until they couldn’t breathe, or make them eat a bullet, and not flinch. 

Barry made Len flinch. Barry made him tremble and gasp and feel like the walls were closing in, when before now Len had always felt free. 

So Barry was the one who needed to be taught a lesson. 

Len was seething when they got back to the safe house. He shouldered in front of Mick and Lisa, and stalked across the room to set his cold gun, the Berretta, and sunglasses on the table with the rest of his normal gear, shaking for a different reason now. 

He was angry, so angry, he wanted to hurt something precious, and putting a bullet in that asshole’s head hadn’t been enough. He needed to hold onto his rage, not swallow it back and keep it in place, well-contained like he usually did. He needed to use this fury. He needed Barry Allen to bend and break beneath him before any of this would feel the way it should. 

“What’s up with you?” Mick barked from across the room. “We got what we wanted.”

Len took a breath, letting the anger settle low in his gut where it smoldered and burned like dry ice. He turned around to face the others and grinned. Mick’s returned expression was a curious head tilt; Lisa pouted and crossed her arms. 

“We’re taking the rest of today and tonight to plan,” Len said.

“Plan what?” Lisa shot back. 

“A heist, Lisa. A real heist. 1st National’s sister bank on 43rd, downtown.”

“Another bank?” she sputtered. It wasn’t like Len to hit the same place, or even the same type of mark so close together. He preferred variety for a real challenge. 

This task required something familiar, however, to drive the point home for The Flash when Len faced him again. “Exactly as I said. You in?” He eyed them both critically.

Lisa bit her lip, her brows furrowed tight in hesitation that Len didn’t usually expect from her, but under his continued scrutiny, she caved, sighed and dropped her arms. “Of course I’m in, Lenny. Always.”

Mick huffed as he raised his weapon to his shoulder. “Just tell me where to point my gun.”

XXXXX

Barry had stayed in bed most of the day, his cell phone on his nightstand in case Cisco, Caitlin, or anyone else called. He didn’t think he’d be up for stopping any crimes, but it was his responsibility to be at the ready. The only thing that popped up was a brief mention from Cisco of a fire, but police and firemen were already on the scene; there was nothing he could do, so he stayed where he was. 

When it was getting close to when Joe would be home for the night, Barry pulled himself from his stupor, showered, changed, and went downstairs to make dinner. Enchiladas sounded good. Comfort food. As many as he could make—and eat—with several set aside for Joe. He felt a little like eating out the tub of ice cream from the freezer while he waited for the enchiladas to finish, but damn, was he really that much of a cliché? 

Three days. One night. It shouldn’t hurt this much.

Joe was too good to him when he got home. He didn’t bring up Cold once. Instead he praised Barry’s cooking and went on about the day’s cases. The fire that had taken out nearly all of the Mendoza family’s gun trafficking, leaving no one left alive—rival gang, they figured. Barry wasn’t really listening, but he softened when Joe cuffed his jaw just slightly to get his attention. 

“How about a movie, kiddo? Or a Netflix marathon. There’s gotta be another Original we haven’t caught up on yet.”

The heaviness in Barry’s heart lessened in the wake of his father’s affection. “Thanks, Joe.”

They ended up watching most of the newest season of Clone Wars before Barry started drifting. He made an abortive jerk toward Joe when he got up to head upstairs for bed. He hadn’t felt the urge to hug Joe goodnight since he was thirteen. But when Joe stood, just there in front of him, close and sympathetic looking, Barry decided not to fight it. 

He squeezed his father as hard as he could. 

“It’ll be okay, Barr,” Joe whispered.

“Yeah,” Barry said. He didn’t believe it, but it helped that Joe did. 

The next morning, he did everything he could to feel like things were normal. Aside from running ahead of schedule, but that just made it easier to meet Iris for coffee at Jitters before work. He needed the caffeine, for all the few seconds it actually worked on him, but it was mostly mental anyway. 

A large Depth Charge, still with his usual extra cream and sugar combo would at least give him an initial rush. He was already halfway through it when Iris joined him with her caramel macchiato. She didn’t even chide him for not waiting before making his order and downing most of it, just stared with that telling frowning smile she had whenever she felt sorry for someone. 

Shit. 

“Joe told you,” Barry stated more than asked as she sat down beside him. 

The frowning smile intensified. “He called yesterday.”

“Oh god.” Barry wanted to bury his head in his hands, but they were cupped around his coffee, so he only managed to drop his head to the table. Then he snapped up as he realized, “Wait…how much did he tell you?”

Finally Iris’s expression turned into a full frown. “That Snart iced the labs and was gone in the morning. He didn’t hurt you, did he? Dad didn’t mention—”

“No,” Barry said quickly, leaning closer to keep this conversation as private as possible. “No. I mean…not physically, though he might as well have. Felt like a punch to the gut when I woke up and found that…note.” He glanced away from her. 

“What did the note say?”

Nope. Barry was not ready to divulge the full tale to Iris just yet. “Just mean for being mean’s sake,” he said, sighing into his coffee. The buzz was already gone, but if he chugged the rest he might get a bit of it back for a moment. He fingered the cup noncommittally. 

“I’m sorry, Barr,” Iris said. “I know you really thought you were making a difference with him. Maybe you did, and he just…didn’t know how to handle things with his memories back. He might have a change of heart after a few days.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Barry snorted. “On the camera footage, when he left, he…” he paused, wondering if this was giving away too much, but he wanted to share something with Iris, and somehow this moment had stung the worst, “he gave the camera this little…salute.” Barry mimicked it with a sneer. “And this smirk on his face like…like it was all in fun, haha, poor, dumb Barry, butt of the joke again. Urg,” he groaned, feeling sick to his stomach just thinking about it. 

He heard Iris sigh and glanced up to see her expression betraying some of that anger Cisco had displayed yesterday, righteous indignation for his sake. “Want me to beat him up?” she deadpanned. 

It had the desired reaction of prompting a laugh from Barry, and Iris smiled. “If anyone could, it would be you,” he chuckled. “You fight dirty.”

“You bet your ass I do.” Iris poked him in the arm, then down his side searching for his ticklish spots, all of which she knew far too well. He squirmed the appropriate amount before holding up his hands for a reprieve. 

“Okay! I get it,” he laughed. She really was the best sister he could ask for. It still hurt sometimes, looking at her, knowing that she’d never be a part of his life the way he’d once thought he wanted, but it didn’t sting in quite the same way. That ache belonged to someone else now, who had done him one worse, and made him feel wanted before rejecting him. 

“Barry,” Iris said, her voice thick with emotion, picking up on his shift from humored to devastated once again. “I’m so sorry. You thought you were making a friend, helping to make someone a better person, and he betrayed that.” She took his hand and held it on the table. Then her keen eyes analyzed him and seemed to come to some sort of realization. “But why do I find this face so much more familiar than I wish I did…”

Uh oh. Barry tried to pull his hand back, shrug off the angry butterflies swirling in his stomach, and move past this, but she’d already seen—she knew. She gripped his hand tight and looked, shit, even more righteously indignant, and suddenly Barry wondered if she really would hunt Cold down. 

“Barry Allen, did he do more than break your trust,” she said sternly, “because I’m starting to wonder if he broke your—”

Bless Barry’s phone for going off. He managed to untangle his hand from Iris’s grip, nearly knocking his remaining coffee over as he fumbled to find it in his pockets. 

“Hello?” he asked without checking the caller ID, trying instead to avoid Iris’s stare. 

“Barry, it’s Cisco. Where are you?”

“Uhh…at Jitters with Iris. I was on my way to work.”

“Detour,” Cisco said, “if you’re up for it. Not that you have to…”

Now Barry was getting worried. “What’s going on?”

“Someone called in an anonymous tip about spotting Captain Cold at 1st National. The other 1st National, across town.”

Barry sat up straighter as his veins filled with ice. So soon? He hadn’t thought—

“No alarms have been tripped, but the call was only a couple minutes ago, and we think…we think he’s expecting you to show up.”

Barry shivered. Why just thinking of Cold made him feel chilly was so unfair. “Why do you think that?”

“Because the call was to Joe’s desk, not the precinct directly. Joe called us at the labs wondering if you were stopping here this morning, so I told him I’d let you know. Barry…” Cisco’s tone held something like a warning, like he shouldn’t have to go and face Cold if he didn’t want to, like maybe he should let this one go. 

“I have to check it out, Cisco. You know he’ll really rob that bank, and who knows what he’ll do if I don’t show.”

Iris’s eyes widened across from him before her face hardened into an angry mask. “Barry…”

“I’m coming to get the suit, Cisco. It’s still at the labs. Have it ready for me.” He hung up before Cisco could respond. 

“Barry,” Iris stood from the table with him as he got up to go, “you don’t have to do this. It’s Snart, right?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for him to confirm. “He’s obviously baiting you. Unless it’s some twisted way to get to talk to you again…” she trailed at the thought. 

Barry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It just proves what I already knew. It was all a game to him, just for show. And now I have to play my part.” He looked at his coffee, took two seconds to knock it back, set it on the table, and looked at Iris. “I have to go.”

“Barry!” she grabbed him before he could dart out of Jitters. He couldn’t turn to look at her, he couldn’t handle sympathy right now, not when he had to face Len while he was still mourning the bastard. “Be careful, okay?” she said. 

Barry paused, but didn’t respond before he pulled out of her grasp and slipped from the coffee shop to the alley where he could flash the rest of the way to S.T.A.R. Labs. 

XXXXX

Cisco and Caitlin both tried to talk him out of going for the few minutes he was actually there. He changed, told them he’d be fine, told them to just be ready on the coms, and got out of there before they could say anything to stop him. 

This 1st National was nearly identical to the one across town. Barry didn’t have to wonder if that was on purpose. He almost expected Cold to be standing in the mirrored spot where Barry had whisked him away the last time they’d met like this, but he wasn’t. He didn’t appear to be anywhere obvious, because when Barry flashed onto the scene, nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Other than The Flash suddenly standing amidst all of the people at the bank for their morning withdrawals. Crap. 

Gasps and open stares, a few calls of his name, and several whipped out cell phones greeted him…but no Cold. No robbery seemed to be happening at all. Was it a diversion, some lame trick, an actual bogus anonymous tip that just happened to go to Joe?

Barry smiled weakly at all of the attention. Usually he was in and out so fast, people didn’t really get a good look at him. He wasn’t sure what to do. He opened his mouth to act as if he was just a concerned citizen, checking to make sure nothing was wrong after the other 1st National had been robbed so recently, when a familiar, sardonic voice spoke calmly from behind him. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Central City’s Scarlet Speedster.”

The chill Barry had felt in his veins before turned to piercing frost bite. 

Slowly, he turned around…and there was Cold. The sight of him was so jarring, Barry almost tipped back. He had seen Cold like this before, dressed to the nines rather than in his parka and goggles, but never in quite this striking of a style. 

He wore a trim suit and tie, and a mid-length trench coat, but rather than in shades of blue it was all black. The trench was left open, double breasted, the tie with a slight shine to it that showed off its slanted stripes. Cold’s eyes looked so blue against all that black. His brow tight, drawn, with a predatory twist at his lips. 

Barry clenched his hands into fists. 

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len breaks more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it was about this chapter that was so difficult for me to write, especially since I had so been looking forward to it, but urg, it was hard as hell! I blame it on getting through Len's bizarre emotional state, but I hope it meets your expectations for this fic, and that you are still with me as we traverse the pain train. ;-)

Barry’s initial reaction was to rush Cold, tackle him to the ground, punch the damn smirk right off his face, but he was surrounded by civilians all staring, and Cold hadn’t actually done anything yet but taunt him. He didn't appear to be armed.

Cold walked right up to him, while everyone else in the bank gaped on, muttering about The Flash being in their midst. Blue eyes darted down and back up Barry’s body slowly. Cold winked. “Big fan.”

Now Barry really wanted to punch him. “Snart,” he hissed, as quietly as he could, “all these people…”

“What of it, Flash?” Cold whispered back, leaning into his space. “I’m just your average citizen, making a trip to the bank in the wee hours like everyone else. Chill out.” 

Before Barry could think of anything as a comeback, Cold sidesteped past him, saying low enough that only Barry could hear, “Bench on the corner across the street. Two minutes,” before proceeding to walk right out of the bank.

Barry followed him with his eyes for a full fifteen seconds before he came back to himself—and shit, someone totally just recorded that on their phone, and what the hell were the headlines going to say about The Flash showing up at 1st National only to have Leonard Snart whisper in his ear? Assuming any of these people had recognized the Rogue. The anonymous tip had probably been Lisa, maybe Cold himself.

With nothing else to do but back off gracefully, Barry gave the crowd a small wave and appreciative smile, and flashed out of the bank toward…home, he decided. Home was closer for a quick change of clothes, and then he wouldn't have to worry about Cisco and Caitlin asking him what the hell was going on. 

“Are you actually going to meet him?” Cisco’s voice chimed in his ear.

Only Barry had forgotten his com was on, so of course they’d heard everything anyway. 

“Barry, maybe you should take a minute—” Caitlin started to say, but Barry didn't have time. He was already forty-five seconds in the hole, and when Cold said two minutes, he meant it. Barry couldn’t take any chances when he didn’t yet know what Cold was after, or what he’d do.

“I’ll check in later. Don’t alert the police unless you hear from me,” Barry said as he skidded to a halt in his bedroom and clicked the com off, tearing his mask back and allowing himself a few extra seconds to decide what to wear. If Cold thought he could be intimidating in all black, perfectly groomed and smelling that good, then Barry wasn’t showing up like some slob. 

His red-lined jacket was a must to counter Len’s trench, burgundy button-down, black sweater, his best jeans. He was overthinking and out of time, but if Cold wanted to play games, then Barry would fucking play. The bastard wasn’t one-upping him this time.

Barry arrived back at the park across from 1st National, right up to the bench and moving to sit down…just as Cold checked his watch from his position seated at the end. 

“Almost a second late. You need to work on that,” Cold said. He glanced over at Barry casually, eyeing the distance left between them in amusement, and Barry resisted the urge to shiver with the way those icy blue eyes scanned down and back up his body again. “Did you re-fluff your hair for me, Scarlet?” 

_Fuck off,_ Barry wanted to say, but he chose a silent glare instead. 

“Giving me the cold shoulder already, huh?”

“What do you want, Snart?”

“Hmm…right to business,” Cold nodded and turned to face forward. He sat leaned back, hands folded in his lap. The air was cooler for almost summer, the breeze still, the perfect morning weather for this little park, with its clear view to the bank and several other shops across the street. Several people went about their mornings around them without paying either man much mind.

Barry took that moment to really look at Cold, and it was too unsettling, how changed he was, how different—no, how much he was back to the way he’d been before, after being such a kind and timid person the past few days. It ached in Barry to see him like this when he thought he’d seen the man becoming something better, opening up to some part of himself that had always been there, but that he’d forgotten, buried, discarded like unwanted trash. 

He also looked unfairly sharp and sexy in the all black attire, and whatever cologne he was wearing smelled amazing. It made Barry shift in place on the bench, reminding himself that this was the first time he’d been this close to Cold since they were together so intimately on that sofa in S.T.A.R. Labs. How was Barry supposed to look at Cold when the man’s hands had been on him, and Barry’s own mouth—

Barry tore his gaze away, mirroring Cold by staring forward. This was as mortifying as an encounter could get, he decided, but if Cold noticed his extra potent agitation, he didn’t comment on it. 

“I want to discuss a renegotiation of our agreement,” Cold finally said. 

“What?” Barry blinked as his head swiveled back to the other man. Was this some kind of joke?

Cold peered slyly over at him. “Our agreement, Flash. Arrangement. Whatever you want to call it. I don’t let innocent people get hurt during my…activities in Central City and keep your identity a secret, and you allow me, Lisa, and Mick to go about our business. Of course, do make a good show of trying to stop us. It would be so boring if you stayed away.”

That predatory gaze made Barry shift in his seat again. He’d found it hot before, he could admit that, the way Cold eyed him, took him in fully like he could devour everything he saw, and when a portion of that look had come from Len…the other Len...Barry had succumbed to how much it made him blush and feel so deeply wanted. 

Now it made his stomach clench.

“The deal also includes you not killing anyone,” Barry reminded him, which he couldn’t help noticing had been purposely left out.

Cold tsked and shifted his shoulders. “That’s going to be difficult considering the state of the Mendozas.”

“The—what?” Barry jerked to the edge of the bench. “You mean the fire? That was…Heat Wave,” he snarled as it all made sense, his lip curling in disgust. He should have known.

“Hence renegotiation.” Cold made a little flourishing gesture with his hand.

Barry’s mouth dropped open. “You…you actually think I’d just allow you to—”

“Allow me to what? Do what I want?” Cold leaned across the bench, lowering his voice to an intimate rumble. “You certainly seemed amenable to the idea the other night.”

Barry’s nails cut into his palms. He felt heat fill his face, equal parts humiliation and rage, as the thought ‘how dare he, how dare he’ repeated through his mind. 

And then that smirk again. “We have a good working relationship here, Flash, a good thing going, so much possibility. So if we’re renegotiating anyway, why not add some additional benefits?” The eye-flick was slower this time, lingering down Barry’s body, penetrating, as Cold’s voice turned husky. “You could have had me from night one if you’d asked, you know. You do look so good in that suit. Even better out of it.”

The sudden intruding hand on Barry's knee, squeezing possessively, was the only thing that kept Barry from leaping to his feet. He eyed it like some unwelcome tentacle—he couldn’t believe Cold; was he fucking serious? 

But Cold chuckled and slid his hand away like it was just another grand joke. “You are so fun to play with, Scarlet. So easy to manipulate. That’s your problem, you know. Fastest man alive, and in the end, you’re predictable.” He glanced down at his watch, then caught Barry in an intense, challenging stare. “Like how easily I got you out of that bank.” 

Barry's eyes widened…

“You really are too trusting.”

…and an alarm blared through the quiet morning, sending the street into an uproar of panic.

In an unthinking blur, Barry jolted to his feet, but a tight grip on his arm held him back.

“Lisa and Mick are long gone by now thanks to you keeping those wide-eyed civilians distracted while they snuck in through the back. You should have learned by now, kid. Isn’t trusting me how we ended up here to begin with?”

Fury roared in Barry’s ears as he spun around to knock Cold’s hand away from him. He was shaking, he was so angry, and if going after the Rogues was pointless anyway then Barry knew exactly where to focus his rage. He snatched Cold up by the front of his perfect suit and flashed them out of the park.

It took what felt like minutes to find a suitable place in a sketchier neighborhood several blocks away, but to Cold it would seem like seconds. 

Barry threw the man away from him when they arrived out of his lightning. Cold stumbled back, but not shocked or angry—laughing.

"Oh, Scarlet, haven’t we been through this before?" he chuckled as he looked around the mostly barren warehouse Barry had brought them to. “Though not exactly a safe neighborhood this time around.”

"This time you don’t have your cold gun," Barry growled, though he didn't know what he planned to do with the man now that he had him alone. Part of him wanted to beat Cold until he bled—it would be so satisfying to not care about being the good guy for a while. 

"Oh? Don’t I?" Cold grinned at him.

Barry hadn't noticed the man reaching inside his trench until it flared open as he swept the cold gun up to aim at him. Barry wasn't wearing his suit. He had no protection other than his slightly better than average resistance and healing. 

The cold gun fired, and Barry only just managed to dart out of the way of the blast of ice.

He snarled and rushed Cold from the side, not giving him any time to regroup or change aim, and took the gun right out of his hands. 

"Ha! You should have stuck with the parka," Barry taunted him, and tossed the gun to the ground.

Cold didn't look deterred. He smirked and spread his arms. "I thought you preferred what was under the parka."

Barry roared as he flashed forward to crash into Cold again—but this time he kept going, zipping them to the other side of the warehouse until the other man slammed into a wall. Cold gasped from the impact, but immediately started laughing again. Their faces were inches apart with the way Barry gripped the edges of the trench coat and pressed forward, pinning Cold in place.

Then Cold ducked his head closer, reducing that space to nothing. His lips brushed Barry’s as he whispered, "See? Predictable," before closing the gap and claiming Barry’s mouth in a fierce kiss. 

Barry gasped at the unexpected intrusion, and Cold took the opportunity to slide in his tongue, tangling them together harsh and demanding, like he owned Barry. Like he was getting everything he wanted. 

Electricity surged through Barry and he slammed the man harder into the wall, but he couldn’t stop kissing him, couldn’t tear himself away. He fought back through the connection, plunging his own tongue deeper, trying to turn the kiss to his control, but Cold matched him at every turn until it was a mess of tightly pressed lips, twisting tongues, and wet, wet heat. 

The slide of their bodies together was painfully familiar, along the line of their chests and legs and hips. It made Barry want to press Cold even more roughly into the wall. He felt a slow, quivering vibration building, and all he could think of was how good it had felt writhing with Len on the sofa while giving in to his power for the first time.

In the end it was Cold who pulled them out of it, and Barry hated how desperately he wanted to follow after his lips and reconnect. 

Cold chuckled again as he spoke, “Admit it…you love this. You get off on it. On being mine. On giving up all the control to me, and only fighting so hard because you know you’re going to lose.” He tried to press their lips together again, but Barry backed off. 

He felt sicker than ever as reality and Cold’s words caught up to him, disgusted with himself, because part of him had enjoyed that rush, kissing Cold in anger, railing against him with a different kind of heat swirling low in his gut as he gave himself over. But the other part ached, and mourned, and wanted so much more than this.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Barry said as he backed away, shuddering as he left Cold there against the wall, the fight draining out of him until he felt numb. 

He wiped at the dampness on his lips. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to give in to Cold. He didn’t want to play this game anymore. And as Cold fought to regain his own composure—apparently Barry could surprise him—Barry felt tears welling up in his eyes, and they weren’t angry tears, just heavy and sad. 

“You actually thought I’d go for this?” Barry sniffed, appalled at both of them, and unable to hold the tears back. 

He clenched his fists to remember some of his anger, because even though for a moment Cold looked blank and startled—vulnerable somehow—the man quickly sneered and straightened his tie like it was all just something he could brush off. 

Barry shook his head. “It really was just an act, wasn’t it?” He smiled through the pain and sniffed again because it was too cruel, Cold was too cruel, and he wasn’t denying any of it. “You’re a fucking liar, manipulating me like that. How…could you?” He couldn’t actually say any of what Cold had done to him, because remembering hurt too much and the tears were already falling. He thought he’d shed them all but it never seemed to be enough. “And why? For what? Was it really that fun for you? Why?” he tried to yell, but his voice cracked on the word. He rubbed at the tears but they wouldn’t stop falling, and he was trembling and—god…damn it. 

Cold just stood there, his smirk gone but so obviously looking down on Barry for how he had ruined the game. It seemed like Cold was shaking too, in resentment Barry assumed, because he soon tightened his hands into fists of his own. 

“Why?” Cold scoffed, pushing from the wall finally. “Maybe I just wanted a good fuck, kid, you ever think of that? And why not? You certainly were eager to provide.”

Fury coursed through Barry again so quickly, he almost didn’t realize what he was doing until he pulled his arm back and met Cold’s approach with a lightning fast crack to the jaw that dropped him straight to the floor.

XXXXX

As Len’s knees hit the cold, hard ground, toppling forward to barely catch himself with his hands, his head swimming, and an awful roar in his ears after the impact of The Flash’s speeding punch, he realized that the only thing that had saved him from a cracked or broken jaw was dumb luck. 

But oh, how it hurt. He imagined the angry green bruise that would stain his face tomorrow, and the astonishment of how far he’d pushed Barry, how easily he’d brought them to this…almost prompted him to take it all back.

It was killing him, the way Barry looked at him now, the grief, the sight of him in tears—god, the kid in tears—and his heartfelt pleading. 

_I’m sorry,_ had danced on the tip of Len’s tongue so many times, like an echo of the past few days and how many times his alter ego had said it. 

Len’s chest burned as hotly as his jaw, but he stubbornly clung to the belief that if he could just push hard enough, something would click and shift within him and he’d be himself again without this incessant need to apologize and pull Barry to him.

So he forced out another laugh as he pushed up from the ground and sat back on his ankles, waiting for his vision to clear and for the ringing to stop searing through his head. He had to break Barry down into fragments so the kid learned what it really meant to face the cold. The kiss had been a risk, equal parts brutality to hurt Barry that much more and Len’s honest, open desire, missing the way Barry’s mouth felt on his.

Seeing Barry again had hit harder than Len expected, but it just compelled him to push that much harder and see this through to the end.

Len eyed the kid from his beaten position on the ground, not able to stand yet, but looking at him defiantly, and seeing the way Barry’s chest heaved, his eyes wide in shock at what he’d done. “You’re not used to hitting as hard as you can, are you?” 

The shock fell away to a sneer, the tears still dampening Barry’s face, but drying, as he tightened his fists. “That wasn’t as hard as I can,” he said, and it sounded like such a dark threat; Len wondered if the kid meant it that way, and a small part of him hoped he did. It would make this easier. 

Slowly, Len rose to his feet, but was instantly met with a wave of nausea. Another concussion so soon after the first wouldn’t do him any favors, and before he could catch himself, he staggered—shit. 

Barry immediately jerked forward, a blur of after-image trailing him, his hands at Len’s elbows in seconds to steady him. All that anger was gone in moments, melted away, leaving only the sadness, the streaks of tears, and caring, candid concern for Len bare on Barry’s face. 

Why wouldn’t the kid learn? 

Len’s jaw burned and his stomach tilted, but he couldn’t waver now. “You make it so easy, Scarlet,” he said low and gruff as he leaned up close to Barry's ear— _so easy to want something better._

 _Don’t do this to the kid, don’t do it_ , chimed in his mind, in some deep recesses of his heart that he just wished he could carve out. Because he had to go for broke or he’d never be free of this. 

“You must really love getting fucked around to be this gullible,” he hissed, and as he pushed Barry away from him, he reached for the other gun in his trench coat—the Berretta he’d claimed from Mendoza—and whirled it upward to point in Barry’s face. 

Barry was faster, of course, which was exactly what Len had counted on. The gun went off with a crack, missing Barry by inches as he darted out of the way, and in the next second Len was flashed into that same wall behind him again, pinned, the gun clattering to the floor of the warehouse as Barry looked at him like he honestly couldn’t believe that had just happened. His hazel eyes showed nothing but loathing now, dismayed to even be touching Len. 

Good. 

The tears were back, flooding Barry’s eyes, but they were angry tears, no more room for remorse. “You’d really just—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. He jerked Len roughly against the wall, and god—he sounded so ruined as he bit out, “You’re a monster, you know that?” 

Len’s hands started to shake. 

No. That wasn’t supposed to happen. The crushed expression, how much Barry believed the lie now, that Len had never been anything but Captain Cold, was supposed to be the moment when Len won. This was how he beat the tremors and second guessing that had made him such a mess with the Mendozas. This was how he recovered his true self. This was how he forgot Barry Allen. 

But Barry’s face, the malice in his voice, the hatred, it kept getting darker, more shattered and wrecked, and in that moment, it wasn’t what Len wanted anymore. He just wanted to see the kid smile again. 

“You’re a monster that you can just go back to being this, worse than you were, like all of it meant nothing and I’m just something to be tossed away when you’re done with me.” Barry growled as he pushed Len into the wall once more and backed off, only it sounded too filled with tears still, for all the anger, like a strangled howl. 

He was still mourning, deeply, heart-brokenly, but he hated Len now, hated him, and nothing would ever change that. 

Barry shook as he backed away, shook too much in the wake of his emotions to notice Len’s own trembles, but his face was hardened despite the renewed tear tracks. 

Len tried to steady his hands, tried to think his way through this, but the words that left him wasn’t what he wanted to say. “It was three days, kid, what did you expect?” 

_You were too good to me, Barry. I don’t deserve you._

Barry squeezed his eyes shut, and more tears spilled stubbornly down his face. “I expected my friend to be better than this,” he said.

His friend…? 

Len laughed humorlessly. “Is that what we were? You’re pathetic, kid, thinking you could change someone like me…”

_I wanted to be better for you…but I’m not._

And damn Barry—because he nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am.” He turned to walk away then, to leave Len there, leaning heavily against the wall, and it was all unraveling too quickly, spinning out of Len’s control. 

This was supposed to be what he wanted—to get one over on The Flash, accomplish a perfect heist, at Flash’s specifications, no civilians even aware let alone hurt, but still like a jab to Flash’s pride for pulling it off by using his own trusting nature against him. 

And then the clincher, the most important part, was what followed, breaking the kid of any thoughts of Len being someone he could save, because if Barry didn’t believe that…how could Len? Len couldn’t risk believing it, or he’d start to want it, and he’d only be setting himself up for disappointment. 

“What did you expect from me?” he called after Barry before he could stop himself, his breaths coming shallow, his whole body shivering. “I told you what I was.” 

“Yeah, you did,” Barry said, his voice cold now, as he remained turned away from Len, steady but stiff. “But I’m not going to let you run around doing whatever you want, stealing and lying, playing cat and mouse because it’s fun for you, and then bend over whenever you feel like fucking with the enemy.”

The sharpness to Barry’s cursing made Len flinch. And in the weighty silence that followed, something opened inside of him that he thought he’d closed off, something raw and terrified, because it was the part of him that didn’t want to be the bad guy in this story, to face against Barry’s earnest heroics; the part of him that would risk anything, even losing himself all over again, if he could just try for one moment to have what he really wanted.

Because he did want it. This whole mess of a plan was over, he was shaking, and panicked, and damn everything, he still wanted Barry Allen more than anything in his whole damn life. 

Len tried to push forward from the wall, but as soon as he didn’t have any support holding him up, he saw the edges of his vision going dark. He wasn’t sure if it was the blow to the head or the inevitability of a panic attack creeping up on him, but it was happening and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t…speak. 

_Barry…_

But Barry wouldn’t look at him. He kept turned away, his shoulders tensing in preparation to run. 

“B-Barry…” Len grit out, but his voice was too soft. 

“Next time…I’m bringing you in. I don’t care if you tell the whole fucking world I’m The Flash.” 

Len tried to reach toward him. He’d been wrong, so wrong…

“I don’t care anymore,” Barry finished, and it was so pitilessly final. “I’m done.” 

And just before Len could try calling out to him again, a streak of lightning carried Barry out of reach. 

Len sunk to his knees, his heart racing, and everything hurting, and he was shaking, and shaking…but he hadn’t been fast enough, could never be fast enough, not with The Flash, not with Barry, not when he’d fucked this all up beyond ever being able to salvage it again. 

He couldn’t go back to the way he’d been. When he tried, it tore him apart like some sickness had settled in his gut. He couldn’t be something worse than what he’d been, something colder and crueler like he’d tried to be today, because the sight of Barry in tears and so desperately shattered had made it worse, not better. So much worse.

But he didn’t think he could be what Barry wanted either. He’d just fuck that up too, and hurt the kid far worse than he had already.

 _I’m sorry, Barry,_ he thought, and he meant it, wished he could speak it, but there was no one there to hear him anymore.

The room tilted, the panic not subsiding but increasing with each passing moment, aching in Len’s chest. He didn’t even feel the pain of hitting the concrete as he crumbled. He was out before he hit the floor.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just to somewhat prepare you...this is going to get worse. Len isn't waking up alone in that warehouse when he comes to.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len doesn't wake up alone, and Barry's friends attempt to help him work through the pain left in Len's wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. You're welcome! ;-)
> 
> Thank you, Nevraukowen, for inspiring one part of this chapter. You'll know when you see it because it was so beautifully expressed in your last review.
> 
> And finally, please see end notes for a rather long personal rant. :-) A happy one!

“Get his wallet.”

“You get it. You’re crouched there.” 

“Dude, check out the pistol! Is that a 92?”

“Forget that piece of crap,” called a louder voice from farther way, “look at _this_ gun! What the hell even is this shit?”

Everything sounded distant, and none of the voices swirling around Len were familiar. He felt like he was struggling through shallow waters, in pitch black, and something was holding him down so he couldn’t get even a single gulp of air. His head pounded, his jaw ached, the side of his temple too, as if he’d struck it right on the bone when he…fell. 

Fuck.

Len broke the surface, gasping for breath as his vision cleared, blurry at first, but rapidly focusing. 

“Shit, he’s awake!”

“Get his wallet, idiot!”

Roughly, Len was tossed onto his back. Clumsy hands dug in his jacket, then his pants pockets. He tried to roll over, to grab at the offender, but his reflexes hadn’t caught up to his waking mind. He groped at air, then saw the haze of some skinny kid scramble out of reach, holding Len's wallet in victory. 

He was being mugged—him. The very idea made Len growl in anger. 

At last he could see clearly, but the pain throughout his head and face was terrible. When he tried to roll up to a sitting position, some other kid placed a dirty boot on his chest and aimed an all too familiar Berretta in his face. And it was an M9 not a 92; didn’t kids know anything these days? 

“It says Leonard Wynters,” said the kid who’d snagged his wallet. “Must be some business guy took a wrong turn getting outta his town car.” The kid snorted. 

Len did pride himself on his appearance. Just because he was a criminal didn’t mean he had to slum it like some two-bit crook. He might not steal only for the finer things, but he still enjoyed them. And he actually liked that gun, though considerably less so when he remembered pointing it at Barry. 

Barry…

“Bullshit,” said another kid, walking into view as Len’s eyes snapped over to him. The damn brat had his cold gun, with a cocksure grin as he held the weapon close and stroked one hand down the barrel. “He’s not any Wynters. He’s Leonard Snart. This is Captain Cold.”

“Who?” another kid asked with a mocking laugh.

The little shit. 

“That freak from the news with the ice gun. This is his gun.” The clear leader of the group hefted Len’s cold gun as he said it, a manic twist to his lips like he’d discovered some wonderful prize.

Len wished he was on his feet so he could snatch the kid up by the front of his shirt and then see who looked smug. They weren’t as young as teenagers, not most of them he didn’t think, but they were kids in his eyes, no way around it; none of them were even as old as Barry. 

Shit, Len really needed to stop thinking about him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. These brats were untrained, inelegant, and likely to shoot him on accident if he wasn’t careful. They were nobodies. Len usually knew most everyone in his line of work in this city, but whatever gang these young men were from, it wasn’t any major player; none of them sparked any recognition.

“If you’re aware of who I am,” he said as evenly as he could make his voice, though it stung to move his jaw after a direct speed-force punch from The Flash, “then you should realize it would be in your best interest to let me up and return my property. Preferably…prompt.” 

He was flat on his back now, and he raised his hands not in surrender but in challenge, meeting the stare of the kid daring to scuff his nice black shirt and aiming Len's own pilfered gun like he actually had the balls to use it. The way the kid’s hand tremored under Len’s stare said otherwise. 

“Keep the gun on him, Rhodie,” the leader called, observant enough to notice that his point man was losing his nerve. “He’s got nothing to bargain with. We found you just lying there, old man, taken out like some bitch by The Flash. I saw his streak leave the building, that lightning shit. He beat you up and leave you here to lick your wounds?”

Internally, Len bristled with anger. Kids these days; no respect—someone should teach them a little. Externally, his eyes remained steady, not moving to the leader but staying trained on the kid above him, who was still quivering and starting to sweat. He’d never fired a gun before, that much was clear. Probably knew the basics, had the safety off, but he was holding only loosely onto the trigger. At least Len wouldn’t have to worry about a misfire.

The problem was he couldn’t risk taking further stock of the room without shifting out of position, and right now that was his strongpoint; keeping the kid above him locked up and nervous. He’d heard at least four distinct voices; he could handle four. He just had to hope his count was right since he couldn’t see behind him. 

“Chalo, I don’t know,” Rhodie said, hand wavering, foot releasing some of its pressure on Len’s chest. “I saw the news too, man. He’s serious shit. He derailed that train, you know. And Flash…he’s like a freaking mutant or something, and this guy’s still alive after facing him.”

“That’s because The Flash is a good guy, dipshit, he doesn’t kill criminals, he puts them away. He was letting Cold off easy. It’s nothing to beat someone if they ain’t really trying to beat you back, and this guy still couldn’t take him. Plus I got his gun, you got his other piece. We’re golden.” 

Oh this would be only too easy. Len waited for the moment when Rhodie dared to turn his head and look at his headstrong leader, and in seconds he had the kid by the ankle. He planned the trajectory of the gun, how the aim would shift if it went off while he twisted the kid by the foot, rolling out of the line of fire rather than into it. 

The gun didn’t go off, but it flew—the damn kid had barely been holding onto it, so there went any thoughts of snatching it up for himself—as Rhodie flipped up and hit the ground with a smack. Len rolled again onto his back and jumped to his feet, fighting past the swell of nausea in his gut and the way the room spun as he surveyed the area. 

There were six of them total counting the one on the floor. Shit. Len hadn’t taken enough time to assess before he acted, and now it could cost him. 

None of the others had weapons, other than a couple with switchblades, and the Berretta had landed too close to Len for any of them to go for it. Chalo had the cold gun trained on him though, still looking fully confident like he just wanted Len to give him a reason. No wonder this kid was the leader. 

"You don't scare me, old man," he said, apparently thinking his title for Len hilarious—and admittedly it did piss Len off; some punk calling him old—as he gestured his subordinates to surround Len. "We got you outnumbered."

That hadn't stopped Len before. He grinned at the young men around him, readying himself, daring the first of them to try something. The one with Len's wallet hung back behind Chalo, the slightest of the group, and probably the most effective pickpocket for that reason, while Rhodie crawled away rubbing the back of his head that had smacked the cement, leaving the two with switchblades to try their luck first.

The initial blade swung Len’s way was disarmed with a textbook deflection move, Len's knee slamming up into the kid's stomach before he tossed him back to stumble away.

The next came at Len quickly, smart enough not to just wait his turn, and stabbing rather than slicing, but Len grabbed his wrist as he spun to meet the newcomer, twisting the kid's arm around his back until the knife released from his fingers with a clatter on the ground and he cried out at the strain on his shoulder.

The room tilted from the whirl of movement and Len feared he'd vomit all over the kid's back. His hesitation to make the next move allowed the kid to struggle out of his grasp. Len stumbled as he was knocked back into a third kid ramming him from behind, too light to take Len down, but enough to unsteady him, and he almost dropped right to his knees. 

He forced himself to stay standing and for his head to clear, for his stomach to stop turning so unpleasantly, and grabbed the kid by the shoulders, crouching, and hefting, and flipping him over onto the floor.

Len stood tall with a snarl. The first of the kids with a knife was coming at him again, so he met him with an open palm to his shoulder, pressing down as his leg swept the kid’s feet out from under him. Len slammed him to the ground, crouched and within reach of the Berretta. 

He held the kid in place with his left hand as his right snatched up the gun, but as soon as he went to point it between the kid’s eyes, he saw how filled with fear they were, how young he really was, how unprepared for this life and how foolishly he was throwing it away, and Len faltered. Worse, he started to shake. 

He stood, still aiming the gun, but his arm trembled and he couldn’t pull the trigger. He finally understood the conflicted, constricting feelings swirling so violently inside of him, and it really was all Barry’s fault, but he couldn’t bring himself to be resentful of that. 

The flood gates his amnesia had opened had made him panic when he tried to ignore the part of himself that was Captain Cold, and it made him panic now because he was trying to ignore the part of him that had honestly loved being seen through Barry Allen’s eyes those few days at S.T.A.R. Labs. Len was only steady, only fully himself and in control, when he found a balance. 

He couldn’t harden himself to find the strength to face the monsters in his life the way he had with his father. Not when the last monster looming was himself. Something had broken down the wall he’d built as a young man, and he couldn’t hide or bury himself that way without resurfacing the terrified boy he’d been. 

He wasn’t only Len. He wasn’t only Cold. Barry had wanted him to be both, had encouraged it, told him it would be okay if he just believed that both parts of him could want the same things. Was that actually possible…?

“You’re pathetic, old man.”

Time lurched forward with a scream of pain, and an actual scream erupted from Len’s lips. His left leg was on fire with sudden agony, and when he looked down, he saw that it was from the burning cold of ice encasing it from knee to ankle. Chalo had shot him—with his own fucking cold gun. 

Four of the kids facing him were down, one still cowering, but Chalo remained resolute with the cold gun whirring in his hands, freshly fired. He seemed amused, elated, not impressed with how much Len had managed as a lone, mostly unarmed man, or at all worried. 

“Get the gun. Now,” Chalo ordered the kid Len had been threatening with the Berretta. He scurried to his feet, and gingerly, fearfully snatched the gun out of Len’s shaking fingers. 

Pain lanced up Len's side from his leg, and he clenched his teeth as he wavered, fighting to stay upright. Shit. Shit. He should have known it would hurt this badly by the way everyone else screamed when he shot them. He didn’t cry out again though, feeling a strange numbness overtake him as rage bubbled and then subsided within him. 

He’d been beaten out by kids—fucking kids. It was so horribly funny, he had to laugh. 

The kid with the Berretta backed away, pointing it at him, unsure but still seeming more likely to pull the trigger than Rhodie.

“No,” Chalo called, keeping the cold gun trained on Len’s other leg, a frenzied look in his eyes as he grinned. “We’re not gonna kill him. We’re taking him with us.”

“What?” Rhodie sputtered, on his feet now but huddled back with the wallet kid, still spooked from how Len had subdued him, and rubbing his sore scalp. "What the hell for?"

“Do you know how many people want a piece of this guy?” Chalo said—and it was an astute and very accurate observation, Len couldn’t deny that. “We’re sitting pretty now, boys, like you can’t even imagine. We’re gonna get the word out about who we nabbed, let everyone know we’ve got Cold’s ice gun to prove it, and see who the highest bidder is when they wanna come calling and say hello.” He smirked at Len coldly—at _Len coldly_. 

A few days ago Len would have wanted to take the brat under his wing. Now he felt sick, still nauseous, and almost hysterical from how unfortunate, how bloody hilarious it all was, just his luck, that when he finally had an epiphany about what he really wanted, his own foolish decisions had already led him to his downfall. 

He couldn’t count the amount of Central City’s underworld who would pick up the call when these kids started spreading the word that Leonard Snart was on ice, disarmed and helpless. He’d be dead by morning. 

Lisa was going to be so pissed. Though she and Mick’s retaliation would be something beautiful to witness—not that he’d be around to see it. 

What stung the most and made him chuckle even as three of the kids swarmed him and had him by the arms, dragging him from the warehouse on his useless iced leg, was that he hoped these poor fools following Chalo didn’t get caught in the crossfire when things spiraled out of their control, and Glider and Heat Wave came calling for blood. They were just dumb kids, after all.

Barry really was a terrible influence, Len thought with a resigned smile. He just hoped that in the wake of this, some day Barry found a way to forgive him. 

XXXXX

Barry didn’t need to work out. In fact, in some ways it was a hindrance, and Caitlin often told him to avoid it, given the amount of food he needed to consume just to keep his body running during normal activity, not to mention excursions as The Flash. It was useful to train, of course, and Barry tried to find time for that on occasion, to work on what Oliver had taught him, what he could glean from Joe and Eddie and any others willing, but usually he simply didn’t have the time. 

Today he was making the time, because he really needed to punch something. 

He’d had to check in at work first, of course, get through some actual cases, tests, and samples, the usual paperwork and humdrum activity that could be interesting even at the dullest of times if Barry was in the right mood. Not today. He rushed through things he’d usually take more time with, until he was blissfully able to take a break, and used it to head upstairs to the gym.

This was one of the slow times for the other officers and personnel, not early enough for those who worked out before work, and not late enough for the lunch crowd. Barry was grateful to have the place to himself. 

He’d purposely not gone back to the house to retrieve his Flash suit or com, and had texted back in response to Caitlin and Cisco’s calls to not bother him unless it was important. He needed to work. 

Yes, he knew about the bank robbery. Yes, he knew witnesses hadn’t seen anything, but that there were reports of gold residue and scorch marks on the vaults—or at least he’d been able to guess that last part, given who had robbed the bank while Cold had Barry distracted. 

No, he didn’t want to talk about it. Or how incompetent the headlines were going to make The Flash sound when they reported on him having been there minutes before the heist, blissfully unaware of the real crime occurring. 

And no, he really, really didn’t want to talk about Len, or anything that had happened between them. 

Only...a small part of him sort of did. He wished he had someone to just yell to about what had happened in that warehouse, but he didn’t know how to face Cisco and Caitlin after he’d ignored their advice to think things through before meeting Cold on that bench. He wished Iris was here. Maybe he’d call her at lunch, see if she could meet him, and he'd confess the whole damn thing. 

Maybe. Right now he kept punching, imagining that the bag was Cold’s smirking face.

“I’d be careful there, Barry. Remember what happened last time,” came Eddie's amused, ever appeasing and patient voice. 

Barry turned, gripping the bag to steady it as he looked over at Eddie’s entrance, who was dressed in his wife beater, ready to take a few shots at the bag himself. 

Barry hadn’t brought a change of clothes so he’d simply stripped out of his sweater and button down and tossed them into the corner, not even bothering to wrap his hands since he healed so quickly. And anyway, he relished the sting sometimes after each punch. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he said, trying for a smile that probably looked more like a strained grimace. “Early lunch?”

“In a bit. I finished up a few things ahead of schedule, so I figured I’d let off some steam first. Seems you beat me to it.” He smiled as congenially as ever.

Barry wasn't sure if Eddie had picked up Iris's bad habit of frowning smiles when she knew something was wrong and couldn't hold back her pity, or if Eddie just always looked filled with sympathy for others. Either way, Barry was no fool.

He stepped back from the bag as Eddie moved in to hold it for him, echoing the last time they'd been here. “Joe put you up to this, right? Or you saw how wrecked I looked when I come up here?"

“Maybe a bit of both," Eddie grinned pleasantly. It was impossible to ever dislike the guy. 

Barry took a few steady punches at the now stationary bag.

"I heard about The Flash’s missed bank robbery this morning," Eddie said, and it made Barry falter but he didn’t stop. "And Iris might have mentioned Joe’s call from last night. Sorry about Cold. I was really hoping things would turn out differently.” 

Barry punched a little too hard and caused Eddie to rock back on his heels, though the other man didn’t complain. “Me too,” he said. 

He gave another punch, more half-hearted, and finally dropped his fists when he was about to go for another. He leaned into the bag and looked at Eddie so close to him on the other side, feeling all of his emotions welling up again, all of the painful, damp emotions he couldn’t seem to shake, just from seeing his friend’s compassionate stare. 

“I slept with him,” Barry said without preamble. 

The widened eyes Barry expected. The way Eddie deflated almost immediately into deeper understanding and grief for his sake was a slight surprise. He’d been prepared for at least a little shock and revulsion. But Eddie just looked like he wanted to hug Barry instead of clinging to the bag. “Oh Barry,” he said.

It somehow summed up exactly how Barry felt. “The night before he left. He had a nightmare. He was crying. I was just trying to comfort him, you know? And then he kissed me again…”

“Again?” Eddie prompted. 

Barry sighed as the truth he'd left out before came pouring out of him. “The first time was the night Lisa came to the labs. He was all broken up over her being there, and I held him, so he’d know it was okay, that I still trusted him, and he…he kissed me, and…” The tears were as ready as ever, but this time Barry managed to will them away. He looked at his hands pressed to the bag, because Eddie’s eyes were too sincere. “When he kissed me the next night, I wasn’t thinking about doing anything more than that. Of course I wasn't. He was hurting and confused and I knew it wasn't right. But he begged me, Eddie. He begged me to help him forget…”

One of Eddie’s hands slid around the bag to cover Barry’s, the other dropping down as he moved a step closer.

Barry looked up to meet Eddie’s kind eyes, summoning all of the anger he’d been punching into that bag, because he was so sick of feeling sad and defeated. “It was all a lie. He faked the whole thing just to push me that far. You know," he smiled bitterly, "when I asked Wells why he killed my mother, why he wanted to kill me, why he’d done all of it, he said...he said it was because he hated me and wanted me to suffer. And when I asked Len why…he said because I was oh so fun to manipulate and he just wanted a good fuck.” 

Eddie’s arms wrapped around Barry as he choked on the last word, and a few tears streaked down his face despite his best efforts. Eddie was strong and present and held on too tight, like he knew that was exactly what Barry needed. 

Barry squeezed almost as tightly back, careful not to crush his friend’s ribs. He dropped his head to Eddie’s shoulder, and there was something so grounding, so needed in feeling someone else's skin against his without anything but comfort between them.

“I didn’t think anything else could ever hurt this much…but somehow this feels even more personal, even more…low and dirty and…” he sniffed, “fuck, Eddie, I actually thought he wanted me. How am I this messed up…?”

“You’re not,” Eddie said heartfeltly back at him. “Barry, come on…I told you, you’re a great guy who deserves someone amazing, and I meant that. Snart’s decisions don’t reflect back on you. What you felt and wanted was real, even if you think it was a mistake now. Him choosing to make a mockery of that is on him. Just like Wells was at fault with none of that falling back on you. I’m so sorry, Barry.” He gave another short, sharp squeeze before letting go. And there was that frowning smile again, trying so hard to be supportive. 

Eddie had something else in common with Iris. He always meant well and was incredible at knowing the right thing to say. Barry wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly feel better about this situation, but the weight felt lessened, more manageable, just from having confessed all that and hearing Eddie tell him it would be okay. 

He stepped back and scrubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you, Eddie. I just didn’t get the chance to tell anyone else. I mean…Joe knows, and Caitlin and Cisco, but I didn’t know how to face them after the bank this morning. I haven’t told Iris anything, though I think she suspects—”

“You told me before Iris?” Eddie’s concern for Barry gave way to a more personal panic. “Wow. She’s gonna kill me.”

Barry laughed, though he suspected much of Eddie’s reaction was honest fear and not just to break the tension. “I’ll tell her. I will. I just didn’t get the chance this morning when we met for coffee. It’s sort of the most mortifying thing I’ve ever done.” He scowled. 

Eddie smiled again in sympathy. “Don’t think of it that way, Barr. I mean…was it good?” His eyes widened in horror. “Not—I didn’t mean it like…! That really came out wrong. I’m not asking the way you think, I just meant, when you were together, in the moment…did it feel like it was something you wanted to share with him, something, you know...good?”

Barry frowned after grinning a little in the wake of Eddie’s fumbling. “But…but he didn’t really—”

“Barry,” Eddie interrupted, holding Barry’s gaze. “In the moment.”

And damn it, Barry couldn’t deny that in the moment it had been more than good, it had been amazing, and not only because he’d gone without for so long and had several new tricks to share with a partner, but because in the aftermath he’d felt so content and happy just looking at Len while lying beside him. Barry had never experienced that before. 

“I don’t understand how he could fake that…” Barry muttered, gaze distant as he remembered. 

Eddie reached out to grip his arm. “Maybe he didn’t.” 

The heavy silence that fell between them lasted only a few short moments before Barry’s cell phone started chiming from atop his discarded sweater. Barry looked at Eddie gratefully, knowing he could never thank the man enough for listening, for being there, despite any weirdness that had once hung between them, before he crossed the room to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“Barry?”

“Cisco, yeah…what’s up? Oh god,” he suddenly realized he’d told them to only call in an emergency, “what happened?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Cisco assured him quickly, while Eddie’s eyebrows raised in concern as he approached Barry at the hurried words. “We just found something we think you should see. Can you swing by the labs now before your lunch break?”

“You just want me to see something?” Barry asked, partially for confirmation, but also to assuage Eddie. 

“Yeah, but it’s…we think it’s important. If you’re free?”

“Sure, yeah, I mean…I’m between case work right now. I can bolt over there and just stay on call in case anyone needs me.” He eyed Eddie hopefully. 

His friend nodded with an easy smile. “If anyone comes looking, they just missed you,” Eddie said, then chuckled, “Which is usually true anyway. I’ll call if you need to rush back.” 

“Thank you,” Barry mostly mouthed, trying to hear both Eddie and Cisco at the same time. “What was that? Yeah, yeah, I’ll stop home to bring the suit, Cisco. Sorry about that. Really, I’m…I’m sorry,” he said more solemnly. 

“It’s okay, Barry. Maybe what we have to show you will help.”

Barry highly doubted that. “I’ll be right there. Five minutes.”

“Okay,” Cisco said, “see you then.”

XXXXX 

Barry arrived, perhaps mildly sweaty, which was about as bad as he ever got—always an added bonus of his powers—just under five minutes later, freshly dressed again and carrying his Flash suit for Cisco to store at the labs where—in Cisco’s words—it belonged. He even smiled at Barry in his usual, chiding, ‘how dare you be so rough with my baby’ expression, which almost made everything feel normal. 

“So what’s up? What do you have to show me?” Barry asked. 

They were gathered, as per usual, in the main labs, by the various computer screens, which were remarkably free of ice residue, and not at all wet looking. The pair of them had obviously been busy while Barry sulked at home the day before. The monitors were even all on, though a couple appeared to be fritzing. 

“Well,” Caitlin started, standing behind the chair Cisco plopped down into in front of the one working monitor, “Cisco's been compiling all of the surveillance footage from while Cold was here—"

"Still?" Barry frowned. "Why? We don't need to track him down anymore. He was found. And I don't feel like finding him again any time soon." He crossed his arms defiantly, even if his time with Eddie had eased some of the pain. Cold had made his choice.

Caitlin oozed sympathy with her own version of the frowning smile, her eyebrows downturned, and damn it—why did everyone have to look at Barry like that? “I know, Barry, and we understand, but we still think this is worth seeing.”

“I just wanted to track his movements more from times when he was alone,” Cisco said, turning to the monitor and starting to pull up the footage. The thought of watching any of Cold while he was pretending to have amnesia churned Barry’s stomach, but he figured he owed it to his friends to at least see what they had to show him. “Everything was what I expected, or what I’d seen before keeping tabs when he was still here. But then I pulled up something from one of the outside cameras I’d forgotten about. First, here’s the camera that looks out from the main exit. You can see when he leaves.”

The footage started, showing the S.T.A.R. Labs parking lot and surrounding area from a camera clearly mounted on the building. After a few moments, Cold walked into view, heading away from the labs, dressed in his parka, his cold gun safely tucked away.

“And this…is the opposing view from a couple minutes earlier,” Cisco said with a furtive glance at Barry before he swapped cameras and clicked PLAY.

Barry didn’t understand. The view was of the door, sure, but if it was a couple minutes earlier, wouldn’t they simply be staring at the closed door until Cold left?

But Barry soon realized his mistake. Cold exited almost right away, he just didn’t immediately continue from the building. He stood there, looking blank and unsure as the door closed behind him. He was holding the cold gun; it wasn’t yet hidden in his parka. 

And then it dropped to the ground with a silent crash, as Cold backed up into the door like something awful awaited him outside. He closed his eyes, brought his hands up to his face to scrub down it, his hands shaking…like so many times before when Barry had caught the man trembling and unable to breathe.

A wave of unmistakable grief filled Cold’s face as he brought his hands down, and he pounded a fist back into the door. It wasn’t close up on him enough to see the fine details, but the way his other hand came up to rub at his eyes made Barry think he was wiping away tears.

He kept his eyes closed, breathing heavily, slowly, leaning back trying to get a hold of himself and steady his shaking. For one brief moment, he turned in facing the door and placed a palm to it, his gloved hand ghosting down toward the handle, hovering, almost grasping it but holding back. 

In the end he slammed that same palm into the door and pushed away from it, snatching his cold gun from the ground to stuff it into his jacket, and rubbing at his eyes one final time before pulling on a resolute expression and walking out of frame.

Barry stared as Cisco stopped the footage. He shook his head, trying to dismiss what he’d seen. “He knew about the cameras.” 

“Sure…but unlikely that one,” Cisco said. “And even if he did, Barry, why keep up the act after the game was over?”

“We don’t think he was faking it, Barry,” Caitlin chimed in. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Whatever flutter of hope flared to life in Barry’s chest just as quickly diminished. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away from the screen. 

“But Barry,” Caitlin tried. 

“It doesn’t matter!” he swung back around. “You didn’t hear the things he said to me in that warehouse!” 

“No,” Cisco replied evenly, bitterly, his stern gaze locked on Barry, “we didn’t.” 

Barry collapsed out of his outburst almost instantly, but what could he say? He knew he’d been in the wrong blocking them out, but he couldn’t actually feel bad about them not having overheard. He would have felt even more humiliated than he already did.

Caitlin looked at him sincerely. “Can you honestly tell us that there wasn’t a single moment, even through the worst of it, where he didn’t sound unsure?” 

Barry shuffled and backed up a step, feeling anxious in his own skin; he didn’t want to think about this anymore. It ached worse every time. Eddie thinking maybe Cold hadn’t faked how good their time together had been, and now Cisco and Caitlin saying he hadn’t faked any of it? Barry wanted the thought to soothe him, but it just soured inside of him and started to unravel what he’d managed so far to overcome this.

“Barry…” it was Cisco, sounding caring and sorrowful now, “being a hardened criminal is all he’s known of himself for over half his life. Maybe the way he’s acting now is the part that’s fake, because he doesn’t know any better. And I know that’s being too lenient after what he pulled, believe me, I’m pissed too. But I thought the whole point of what we’re doing here was to save people. You’re the one who keeps trying to convince us that everyone can be saved. Even the villains.” 

“We wanted to reform the metas,” Caitlin reminded him. “Why not start with Cold?” 

The sentiment was everything Barry had tried to believe in too, but it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. “He shot at me.” 

“Okay…” Cisco conceded, “but we reprogrammed the cold gun to be less dangerous, remember?”

“Then he pulled a normal gun and shot at me again.” Barry eyed Cisco pointedly, then Caitlin. “In the face.” 

Cisco’s stubborn, pursed lips reappeared. “Seems like he missed.” 

Anger rose from the back of Barry’s neck, filling him with heat that bled down his body. The shift must have been palpable, because Cisco immediately raised his hands. 

“I’m not excusing anything he might have said or done to you, Barry. I’m sure as hell not excusing what he did here before he left, that he left at all, any more than I’d excuse what he did to me and Dante, or to Caitlin. But if we were willing to forgive him before, there’s only one thing that would make it impossible for me to forgive him again. 

“Do you really think there’s no part of him that’s still the Len we met? Is there no part of him that wishes he could be better, that maybe isn’t as sure about the things he’s been doing as you think? Or is he really just Cold?”

A ready answer stirred on Barry’s lips, heated and biting, but it died on his tongue. He thought back to that morning, to Len’s last few words to him after he’d turned away, and there had been desperation there, a subtle cracking. Barry hadn’t taken it for remorse then, just frustration that the game was over, but maybe…

Maybe.

Then all Barry could think about was how he’d told Joe that he had to believe it was possible to even forgive Wells—Thawne—because if he didn’t…

_“What the hell am I doing going out there pretending I’m a hero?”_

Barry pressed his palms into his eyes, worried more tears would form, and let out a deeply held breath. He looked at his friends and they both seemed so hopeful. “How could I ever trust him after this?” he stated more than asked, because it seemed to be its own answer. 

“We’re not asking you to trust him, Barry,” Caitlin said. “We’re just asking you to consider that maybe the fight isn’t over yet.”

Cisco’s phone rang, disturbing the strange, buzzing static in the room with a Japanese rock song Barry was pretty sure was the theme for an anime. It managed to disrupt the tension, at least.

“Sorry,” Cisco smiled sheepishly. He eyed the caller ID, but frowned. “Hello?” he answered uncertainly, and then his eyes shot wide as he sputtered, “Lisa?”

The tension immediately returned, causing Barry to flash closer to his friend, crowding him against the chair. “I thought you didn’t have her number?” 

“I don’t,” Cisco hissed around the mouthpiece. Somehow his eyes sprang wider as he listened. “Wait, what? Slow down, Lisa, calm down. He’s been what? Cold’s been…” He gulped almost audibly, unable to finish the phrase as his gaze lifted and centered on Barry. 

All the anxiety Barry had been feeling skyrocketed as it became clear that something was very, very wrong.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, RedHead, there's a pinprick of light!
> 
> Eddie snuck in there. I had not planned for him initially, but just love the way he went, ahem, my turn, thank you! I hope this shows you that there is the chance for things to work out...there's just alot to get through to achieve that. The kids (all between 19-22, in my mind) are just OCs, though I did name the leader after a character from a story I finished editing recently, which is really rather mean of me since the other Chalo is such a cool, nice guy. 
> 
> And now for the rant. :-) 
> 
> In 2007, on FF.net (I wasn't a member here yet) I began this epic Supernatural fanfic called Incubus. It pairs Dean with an OMC, and basically ended up being an AU seasons 3-5. I wrote it originally from 2007-2009, and it was so epicially long, and I loved it so much that I wanted to redo it as an original story. I tried for some time to get it published until finally succeeding with BigWorldNetwork, an indie publisher I also do editing work for. Tomorrow, the third book in the trilogy that once-fanfic turned into releases to the public, ending what has been the better part of a decade for me, and I'm just...I'm going to break down crying tomorrow, I just know it. 
> 
> So, if you enjoy how I write M/M sex, and in general, consider giving it a try. It is its own unique story, but you'll definitely see the heart of Supernatural in there, and all three eBooks are only $6 each. You can see all of my books on my Amazon page here http://www.amazon.com/Amanda-Meuwissen/e/B00IASVAJO including the one about to release, Sidhe. The order for the series is Incubus, Changeling, Sidhe.
> 
> And for those of you fellow writers out there, if you have any original work, or fics you've turned into original works (I'm not the only one with this publisher, as I edit a story that was a Merlin AU) I am the person who reviews all submissions, so feel free to exploit that you know me from AO3, but bear in mind we do have a vigorous submission process so some things are turned away. http://bigworldnetwork.com/
> 
> And even if you are solely here to read this fic, which is more than enough, believe me...omg, you are all so amazing, thank you, thank you, thank you. I have a long weekend ahead with the 4th coming up here in the US, and while I really need to put some work into my current book in progress, I'm sure you'll see another chapter of this soon.
> 
> Thank you all again! The light at the end of this long tunnel s ahead, I assure you! Eventually...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Flash and the Rogues mount a rescue operation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tonight as we were heading home from some 4th of July frivolity, I mentioned to my husband that coldflashtrash had made an Out Cold playlist, which I proceeded to start playing for him, and which all of you should check out (it's awesome). http://coldflashtrash.tumblr.com/post/123052327208/an-out-cold-fanmix-part-1-crimsondomingo-i
> 
> But because my husband is amazing, he immediately went...what, no Duct Tape? I'm terrible at remembering the names of songs (I remember every actor's face in seriously everything we've ever watched, and he remembered every song, album, performer we ever listen to, so it evens out) so when we got home he played it for me, and I went...oh this! Oh yes... https://youtu.be/JIYQnxiKrug
> 
> He then proceeded to go on a rampage through his songs going...how about this? And this? LOL. For me, mostly So Cold by Breaking Benjamin was a must from his suggestions, which I've always loved, especially the remix. https://youtu.be/In5yLjvUE0Y
> 
> But ahem, sidetracked. Enjoy this chapter! I'm feeling pretty happy with where things are headed next. 
> 
> Though I wanted to also mention that while Caitlin was being sincere with Barry in the last chapter...Cisco was not. Cisco is pissed beyond measure at Cold and was defending him for Barry's sake only, not wanting his hero to lose hope when he so recently was all...anyone can be saved, aren't we the good guys, etc., but...I wouldn't want to say too much more or spoil how Cisco and Len's next private encounter will go. :-)

Barry stood with his arms crossed, feeling exposed being in front of the Rogues without his Flash suit on for the first time. Well, for the first time knowing it, since he had technically seen Lisa while out of the Flash suit when he and Cisco first met her. 

After Lisa had finished explaining the situation to Cisco over the phone, and Cisco relayed everything to Barry and Caitlin, Barry had wasted no time telling Lisa to come to the labs immediately so they could work out a plan of rescue. He should have expected she’d bring Mick Rory with her. 

Lisa was in her usual all black attire and leather, gold gun hanging from her belt, Mick in his more khaki-colored and soot-covered getup, goggles around his neck like Barry was used to from Cold, with his gun not obviously visible but definitely on him somewhere. They were dressed and ready to go on the hunt. Barry really had no idea what he was getting himself into. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked stiffly. 

Lisa checked her watch with an irritated grimace and shuffle of her feet. “Less than an hour before those brats said they’d reveal their location. They’re holding Lenny somewhere, and as soon as they name the place, it’s going to be a free-for-all.”

“Dumb brats actually think they’ll live through it,” Mick grumbled. 

Barry agreed that these young up and coming criminals were idiots, but he didn’t like the way Mick’s words were equal parts scoffing and threat. 

He stood at one end of the main labs with Cisco and Caitlin hovering behind him, while Lisa and Mick remained on the other side of the room. Barry had let Joe and Eddie know to be on standby; this was going to affect a lot of people when things went down, depending on the location. Someone would need to send in police to the area to keep civilians out of the line of fire. 

Of course Joe hadn’t been on board with the idea of Barry inviting the Rogues to the labs—again. But what could he do? Lisa had hysterically admitted over the phone that Len had been abducted, and that a post had gone out over the web to every low life in Central City to await a location for first crack at killing him—as long as they were willing to pay. It was like some twisted game show. 

It hadn’t taken long for Cisco to confirm that the abduction was real and not another trick, discovering the message floating around the Internet with a picture of some young guy Barry didn’t recognize holding the cold gun to Captain Cold’s own head, too close up on his body to see their surroundings. In the picture, Cold had looked as Barry would expect in such an impossible situation: calmly controlled and glaring, despite the frozen state of one of his legs. 

“Yeah, well these ‘dumb brats’ were smart enough not to give up their location right away,” Lisa said, pulling Barry back to the conversation, “but Mick’s right. Those kids will be the first to die when unfriendly faces start showing up, and even if they do have Lenny’s cold gun, that isn’t enough to hold everyone back. They won’t see a dime for this. Too many people will be gunning for a dirty end in there to care about paying for their shot.” 

“It’s simple,” Mick said, his gaze heavy and unnerving as it rested on Barry, “as soon as they post the location, you flash in there and get Len out. We’ll take care of the rest.” The way his lip curled spoke of all kinds of fire and brimstone. 

“No way,” Barry stared him down, “you’re not taking anybody out for this if you want my help. And I can’t just flash in there and hope for the best. We have no idea what to expect, how many guys there are, how or where they’ll have him in whatever building they’re holed up in, or whether or not they’ll simply shoot Cold at the first sign of trouble. If we do this, it’s going to be together, slowly, until we have a clear line of sight on him, and then I’ll speed him out of harm’s way—only then. But no killing, even after I’m gone and this is over; no retribution for this.”

“You gotta be fucking—” Mick started to stalk forward with murder in his eyes, but Lisa held out an arm to keep him back. He eyed her in frustration, clenching his meaty fists at his sides, but reluctantly obeyed. 

Lisa stared at Barry coldly. “That’s real rich, you know? ‘If we do this’, ‘if you help’. Like it isn’t your fault they took him in the first place.”

Barry rocked back in the face of her accusation, unable to stop his arms from loosening and then falling to his sides. “My fault…?”

“Didn’t you read the damn post?” she bit out. “Said they found Lenny freshly beat on by The Flash, unconscious in some warehouse.” 

Barry’s stomach plummeted. He hadn’t read the post; Cisco had paraphrased it. Cisco had… He looked back at his friend and saw the way Cisco slumped and looked away. 

“Yeah, he tricked you out of the bank,” Lisa pressed on, “got one over on you again, boohoo. But you acting all high and mighty about not hurting people when you’re the one who knocked him out and left him there—”

“I didn’t knock him out!” Barry called as he whirled his attention back to her. “He was fully conscious when I left that warehouse. I didn’t…I mean…” He ran both hands back through his hair as he was reminded of the painful encounter from that morning. “I hit him, but I didn’t…he wasn’t knocked out.”

Lisa looked mildly appeased when Barry looked back at her, though still heated and frowning. Then recognition filled her face. “Was he shaking?”

“What?”

“Before you left him,” she snapped, “was he shaking?” 

And…well, yeah, he had been, but so had Barry. They’d both shook in the heat of battle, or so he’d assumed when he caught sight of Cold’s hands trembling. Nausea filled Barry’s stomach as he realized what Lisa was implying. “Toward the end…more so. A little,” he admitted. 

Lisa let out a long breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her face had shifted into anguish rather than anger. “That damn idiot. He kept trying to push. I should have made him wait, should have said no when he wanted to pull this heist today. He was all off with the Mendozas too, too twitchy and hesitant to do more than ice a bunch of limbs. I figured he’d be better after a normal job, but he must have had another attack...”

“Attack?” Caitlin spoke up, daring to take a step closer beside Barry. “He was still having panic attacks?”

“Still?” Lisa repeated bitingly as her gaze sharpened on Caitlin. “He had them here too?” She shook her head when all of Team Flash shared guilty looks. “I don’t know what you did to him while he was here those few days, but Lenny hasn’t had attacks like that since before he moved out of the house as a teenager.”

“What are you talking about?” Mick broke in, and Lisa turned to face him like she’d been regretting this conversation. “Is that why he couldn’t stomach offing Mendoza, like he hadn’t done it a million times before?” Then he surprised Barry by turning to look at him again rather than waiting for Lisa to answer. “What did you do to him, huh?” he practically growled. Lisa looked back at Barry with equal challenge. 

It was like they thought he’d tried to brainwash Cold or something. “He’s the one that tried to do something to me!” Barry defended. “That first bank job, when I flashed away with him, he was firing at me and froze a piece of walkway that fell. He’d done nothing but lie to me, so when he tried to warn me about it coming down, I didn’t listen. He pushed me out of the way and…and hit his head.”

Barry felt guilty again for his part in how all of this had begun as Lisa and Mick’s eyes went wide. They hadn’t known; it couldn’t have been some elaborate scam if Cold kept them in the dark even after he returned from S.T.A.R. Labs. After that morning Barry had been so certain Cold had faked it all, but that camera footage, the continued panic attacks… 

Barry barreled ahead to explain. “The hit to the head made him lose his memory. When you came that night, Lisa, he wasn’t lying to me…he was lying to you. He pretended he still remembered, but at that point the only thing he really knew was your name and a few things from your childhood. He faked the rest so you wouldn’t make him leave.” Because he hadn’t wanted to leave, he hadn’t wanted to remember…

The way Lisa’s remaining anger dripped out of her until she sagged, weighted down by sorrow and surprise, proved she believed Barry, though Mick was harder to read, just frowning, his brows tight.

“He started having attacks whenever he tried to fight remembering,” Barry said.

“Why didn’t he want to remember?” Mick asked through what Barry almost took for a pout. “Wouldn’t that mean he was healing?” 

Lisa’s lips quirked up in the tiniest, mournful smile. “Because he had a cute boy and a fresh start, Mick. Can you blame him?” 

Barry couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes darted behind him as she said that, and he didn’t have to guess to know she was looking at Cisco. Though he did blush a little that she wasn’t at all hiding that she knew something beyond friendship had happened between him and Cold. 

Mick looked confused, like he couldn’t grasp the concept of a ‘cute boy and fresh start’ being at all appealing. In the end, he eyed Barry critically and shrugged, leaving Barry feeling like he’d just been judged and found wanting. 

Lisa pushed on undeterred. “Lenny said he got his head turned around and just wanted to brush it off. But he couldn’t. I told him getting all wrapped up in you would end badly. Figured I was helping, saving him the inevitable heartache, but I saw how his first attack went down. He only started shaking and losing his breath when he was trying to lie to me about what really happened between you two.”

Any remaining fight drained out of Barry as she finished, remembering that the same thing had caused Cold to panic when he was here—trying to lie to himself about who he was, terrified he’d remember being Captain Cold and fighting against it. Had it been the reverse once he remembered? The way he’d looked in that last camera footage…

“He was trying to pretend like he was still the same…but he wasn’t,” Barry said, because it wasn’t a question in his mind anymore, and somehow that hurt worse than before, when he’d just thought Cold had lied to him. Now he knew it had been the truth, and Cold had tried to bury it rather than admit he’d been changed. 

“Yeah…and he kept trying harder,” Lisa said, remorseful that she hadn’t understood the truth until now, hadn’t known how to help him, “but it obviously wasn’t enough. You got in his head, Flash, made him panic, really panic about who he is and what he wants. So now you better save him,” she perked up, trying to smirk but there wasn’t any challenge or threat in the demand, just pleading and anxiety for her brother. “You have to.” 

Barry nodded without even having to think about it. Of course he’d save him. Saving’s what he did. He owed Cold the returned save, after the walkway, the amnesia, all this mess. What Cold owed him for how he’d tried to push him away afterwards…Barry honestly didn’t know if there was anything that could make up for that. But he’d still save him.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he said, backing up a step and turning slightly so that he could see Lisa and Mick on his left and Cisco and Caitlin to the right. “We better come up with a good plan fast, and get there the second that location goes live. But I mean it,” he looked to the Rogues, “we do this my way, or I’m handing all three of you over to the police when it’s over. Nobody dies. No revenge later. I give the orders and you listen to what I say.”

Mick sneered and clenched his fists again, but looked to Lisa. Whatever pleading expression she gave him in reply seemed to work, because when she looked back at Barry again, they both nodded. 

Lisa even smiled. “I suppose it’s the least we can do since you were so good about revealing your secret identity today. Gotta admit, I was surprised you weren’t wearing the suit when we came in.”

“What?” Barry looked down at his work clothes then back at them. “But…but you already know my secret identity. Cold told you, didn’t he?”

Lisa eyed him humorously. “Uh, no, honey, he didn’t. Remember? That’s why you wore the mask the last time we teamed up.”

“But I thought…” Barry trailed as Lisa shook her head and Mick actually smirked. Shit. Cold had been on the level about that and hadn’t betrayed his trust—at least not about revealing his identity to anyone. Barry was honestly thrown. And felt supremely stupid.

“Don’t feel too bad,” Lisa winked as she crossed the room to join Cisco, to which he looked a little startled, but then they would need to all be near each other to form a working plan. “I remember you from the bar when I first met Cisco here. I would have figured it out eventually.” 

XXXXX

Len was freezing. He snorted at the irony. 

His iced leg was part of it, numb now and even more useless, not that he was standing anyway to attempt an escape. They’d stripped him down to his button down and slacks, and tied him to a chair. He didn’t know where he was, the building dark and heavily industrial, like an old factory. It was probably home for these kids, some abandoned building they squatted in and felt safe. Funny how they were about to let Hell rain down upon it. 

A few of the boys lined the room and stood at the door. The skinny pick-pocket, who Len had learned was called Twitch, sat cross-legged on the floor in the corner with a laptop and a timer, while Chalo paced around Len holding the cold gun. The young gang leader wasn’t nervous; he was anxious, unable to sit still in his excitement over what was coming. 

Len had tried to warn them that this wouldn’t end well for any of them, but while several of the others looked wary, Chalo never seemed discouraged. Len wondered if the kid had an honest to god death wish, knew exactly how this would all go down, and just wanted to witness the destruction, even if he ended up as another casualty. 

On second thought, Len decided he wouldn’t have taken this kid under his wing. He didn’t care for straight up psychopaths. Everything had a purpose, a plan; destruction for the sake of destruction wasn’t any fun. Frankly, he found it boring. Mick skirted that line fairly often, but Mick was…Mick. 

At least the brats mostly left him alone now. After that damn photo they’d taken, which Len was certain Lisa had seen by now and was probably driving her mad with worry and furious indignation that he’d let this happen, the kids hadn’t even taunted him much, though every so often Chalo would make some snide remark. The fact that Len no longer responded obviously spoiled the fun. 

It was cold and dark, and in a few minutes Len would go out like he’d always expected: surrounded by enemies with the lowest odds of survival imaginable. Nothing else could have been enough to take him out. He’d feel proud if he didn’t want to kick himself for being such a fool.

He let his mind drift when he heard Twitch inform Chalo that the location had successfully gone live. Len was deep inside the building, far in the back from what he remembered of being dragged in here. Some of the kids were at the main entrance and inside other rooms, calling in updates to Chalo on their phones. They were supposed to lead anyone who showed up into the back after they paid. 

Len had thought it the stupidest plan these kids could come up with. Maybe if they were only dealing with lesser criminals like themselves, lower grade scum, there would be some honor among thieves, but all of Central City? They didn’t know the league of villain that existed out there, who wouldn’t hesitate to off some young guys trying to play in the big leagues. Chalo either didn’t care, or honestly thought the cold gun would save him.

It wouldn’t be long now. Len closed his eyes and pictured his sister coating every thug in Central with her gold gun. He pictured Mick melting it all in turn as he set the city ablaze. He was really going to miss them, for all the times Lisa drove him crazy and purposely tried his patience, and every time Mick lost his temper and went against Len’s orders, only to begrudgingly apologize later if it had messed up their plans. 

Len didn’t know why he had always been willing to forgive Mick and go on being partners when half the time they were at each other’s throats. Fire and ice really was how to describe them even before they had their guns. But then, Len supposed it was just like him and Lisa, so it wasn’t surprising things were the same with Mick. It must be what it was like to have a brother. The thought almost made him smile.

And then, without even trying to conjure the kid…Len pictured Barry. He didn’t really have anybody else in his life, not anyone that mattered. 

He pictured Barry in the Flash suit, shaking with anger. Pulling the mask from his face, looking at Len in concern. Wearing his S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, smiling and blushing and rubbing the back of his head. His voice echoing in the bathroom, singing low and melodic. The smooth line of his chest and hips and long legs—bare. The blur of his movement, the feel of vibrations, the press of his lips… The spark of something deeper than Len deserved shining in hazel eyes. 

Then those same eyes filled with tears and grief and mourning and…damn it. Len had wanted to ruin Barry and he’d succeeded. If he had another chance, he wasn’t sure what he’d say to the kid. No apology could ever be enough; it would just sound insincere, and Barry wouldn’t believe him anyway, not anymore. Even so, he tried to imagine the words he’d use, all the things he’d never get to tell him. 

What amazed Len, and hurt the most too for what he’d lost, was that Barry hadn’t wanted to change him; that was the paradox of Barry Allen. He had been so certain Len was already a good man, encouraging him to remember who he really was. No, he didn’t want Len to change, he wanted him to recognize the part of him that really didn’t want to be the bad guy, that had been smitten by Barry because the kid was so thoroughly good and made it fun to be better, to be the best without anyone getting hurt or killed. 

Len wouldn’t have agreed to it in the beginning if he hadn’t liked the idea. If Len somehow got out of this mess, he’d still probably kill anyone who in turn tried to kill Barry, or Lisa, or Mick; he couldn’t imagine shaking that compulsion. Even if he tried to be good, to let his obsession with The Flash turn into an obsession with helping the kid save this city, he’d probably slip up on occasion and want to do bad, dangerous, roguish things. 

But if what he really wanted was to one-up the competition, always a step ahead of the next guy…was it really so different if he did those things on the other side of the law? 

Mardon’s face sure would be fun to see stunned and accusing. And being a bad guy turned good sure would put the kibosh on thinking he was destined to turn out like his father. That a crooked cop raised two criminals was textbook inevitability, but there were times, many times, long before Barry Allen showed up in his life, when Len wondered if that was really what he wanted, to be just another statistic that proved he couldn’t escape his father after all.

He just wished he could tell Barry that he wanted to try, that he’d probably always be a Rogue, but he’d still try if he could, and check out the view from standing beside Barry rather than opposing him. He’d love to be by Barry’s side…and make up for the tears he’d caused. 

If that meant in his last few minutes on earth that his soul was saved, he didn’t really care. He just hoped someone was always around to save Barry.

Static and harried voices crackled from Chalo’s phone. 

“Rhodie, come again?” Chalo asked. “Someone already here?” When there was no immediate answer, he pressed the speaker button, and chaos filled the room from the other end of the phone. Screams and shouting and…

…and the distinct sound of something like a flame thrower. 

Mick, Len thought as his eyes sprung open. But how? How could they have found him so quickly when the location only just went live? Unless…

Len grinned despite himself. If he was hallucinating in his last moments, so be it, but there was only one person fast enough to have brought the cavalry in time to save him. 

XXXXX

Barry flashed around the entryway, snatching up guns and hurling them at the walls and floor at lightning speed until they shattered, useless, while trying to be gentler with how he knocked heads together to put the guys out. He wanted them unconscious not dead. Of course Mick and Lisa had other ideas, like reflex, aiming their weapons directly. 

Barry darted in front of Mick as he was about to unleash his flames on a kid already disarmed and on the ground. “No!” He spread his arms wide to block him, even if it might mean he was at risk of getting baked himself. “Diversion and scare tactics only. No one gets fried.” 

Mick’s eyes didn’t need to be fully visible through his goggles to know he was glaring. He dropped the gun to his side. “Then get moving, Flash. There’ll be worse enemies than these stupid shits in minutes, less, so hurry your ass.”

Barry would have scowled in the face of basically being called too slow if he didn’t get that Mick was worried. He wanted to save his friend, because for whatever reason, he and Len were close for all the times Barry had seen them argue. He’d picked up on just how much Mick cared during their planning at the labs, how many times Lisa’s hand had drifted to Mick’s arm or shoulder, squeezing subtly, reeling him back in from whatever distress he was feeling. 

Of course their best plan wasn’t much of a plan at all until the location went live. Disarm as many as they could and prevent them from falling back to wherever Cold was being held, so that once they reached their target, there wouldn’t be as many of these kids to face off against or to use Len as leverage. 

The heart of the plan was still happening through Barry’s com, as Cisco frantically looked up blue prints on the building and started feeding options for him on where to go. 

Barry whirled around and pulled back a fist as he dropped down to the kid on the ground. 

“Wait!” the kid called in abject horror, hands up and shaking. “I’ll fucking leave! I’ll just leave! I don’t want anything to do with this! Chalo’s out of his damn mind!”

“Where is my brother?!” Lisa bellowed as she came around Mick to hover above Barry and the young man, her gold gun whirring dangerously. Barry trusted that it was only a threat. 

“Barry,” Cisco chimed in his ear, “there’s a large room at the back, through a maze of different hallways to get there. A few ways are shorter than others, but there’s no way to know if any of them are blocked.”

There was one way. “What’s the fastest route to get to them?” Barry demanded of the young man, using his speed to snatch him up by the shirt and pull him close, which definitely seemed to scare the kid more than Lisa or Mick’s guns. “Talk!”

“Th-through there!” he stuttered, pointing through one of several doorways. “Main corridor to the end, then a left!”

“You better be right,” Lisa growled.

“I swear, I swear!” he said, then looked at Barry like he thought nothing could be as scary as The Flash holding him by the scruff. “We thought you were the one that left him there, man. I’m sorry…shit. I don’t want nothing to do with crossing you!” 

Barry dropped the kid back to the floor as he stood, satisfied but bitter at the reminder that he was partly to blame for Cold being here, when a voice from a phone on the ground suddenly blared, “Rhodie, what the hell is going on!?”

Rhodie backed away from the phone, scooting frantically with his hands still raised as if to say the phone was all theirs to deal with as they wanted. 

Mick snatched it up before Barry could. “I’m coming to turn you to ash, you little fuck.”

“Mick!” Cold’s voice yelled plainly through the speaker.

They all three shared relieved, triumphant looks, but the phone went dead after that, the other line disconnected, and Mick chucked it back to the ground. He turned his gun on Rhodie but didn’t fire. He gestured with it back toward the door they’d first entered, and the kid got the message. He scrambled to his feet and darted out into the sunlight. 

Barry sighed in relief, but they didn’t have much time. Part of the plan was also to have remained below the radar so they could reach Cold without anyone getting itchy trigger fingers, but Mick’s temper had gotten the better of him. They had to hurry. 

“Let’s go,” Barry said, and led the way through the door Rhodie had indicated. 

The building was completely without windows along the hallway, dark and humid inside, like whatever it had been used for as a factory still attempted to work on occasion, leaving the place filled with steam. Only it was damp and chilly rather than hot, like that first blast of air conditioning on a muggy day. It made Barry’s suit feel like it was sticking to him even as he shivered. 

There were doors all around the corridor, and an obvious fork at the end leading left and right as Rhodie had said. Barry trusted that the kid had been scared enough to offer the truth. 

They moved slowly, checking the rooms on either side of them for any ambushes as they went. One was easily spotted, the kids unprepared inside as Barry came into view. He was able to dash in, disarm them, and knock them out before either Lisa or Mick even realized. But their eyes were on him through the doorway once they noticed his disappearance, distracting them from seeing movement in the room across the hall—behind them. 

Barry saw it only vaguely, indistinct, but he could tell that the figure approaching was larger than any of the kids they’d seen so far and packing heavier artillery. 

“Look out!” he called, and flashed forward in front of Mick and Lisa into the unknown assailant, tackling him to the ground. There was someone else behind him, Barry only saw as he landed atop the first man, ready with another gun that moved to point at Barry’s head. 

A blaze of bright, golden light blinded him a moment, and when he looked back up, the gun that had been trained on him was now fused to the new assailant’s hand in a mottle of gold. 

Barry felt a strong grip on the back of his suit yank him upright, a little intimidated at how easily Mick hefted him from the ground and off of the man he’d tackled, who groaned and appeared to still be conscious. Lisa stepped in and kicked the man in the face, while Mick pushed Barry aside and stepped over the man on the ground to get to the one Lisa had shot—gaping wide-eyed and disbelieving at his gold-coated hand—and pistol whipped him with the butt of his gun. 

“You know…frying them would be faster,” Mick grumbled, though Barry got the distinct impression Mick was actually a little amused. 

So he decided to reply in kind. “I get enough of faster. For some things, I can be patient. And thanks,” he added at both of them with a look to the downed men, though he wasn’t only grateful for the rescue—they’d actually listened to him and shown some restraint. 

Mick offered a noncommittal grunt, but Lisa crouched down beside the man Barry had first bowled over in the doorway. She shook her head. “I recognize these two. They’re from Santini. They must have been close when the location went live. We’re out of time, Flash, so you better start liking being fast again, because if they got in,” she gestured into the room at a busted window as she rose from the ground, “others aren’t far behind.”

They hurried back into the corridor and continued at a faster pace, Barry still on point as he watched for any other attempts at ambush, but the original group of young men didn’t appear to be that numerous. 

They hit the fork at the end of the corridor and turned left as Rhodie had instructed, only to see that the door at the end of this new hallway was open—and Barry could clearly see Cold within, tied to a chair, an indecipherable expression on his face as their eyes met. Time stilled.

Then the kid with the cold gun stepped into view, and two others on guard inside the door darted around from the sides to open fire. 

Barry flashed back around the corner, pulling Mick and Lisa with him. They waited until the first barrage of bullets finished, then Barry bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to flash back into action. “I could see him. I can get to him.”

“Wait,” Lisa hissed, grabbing the front of his suit to hold him still. “You said nobody dies, and I said no dumb heroics. Think smart, Flash. Mick, you cover him,” she turned to her companion. “Light the hallway up so those idiots have to duck out of the way, then Flash will have a better chance to slip through undetected.”

Barry was impressed. He’d always assumed all of the strategy came from Len, but Lisa was no slouch either. He looked to Mick for confirmation, and the larger man lit up with a grin. He pressed himself to the wall, gun ready, then started firing before he’d even fully turned to walk his way down the hallway, howling like a beast to add to the fear he was sure to instill in their enemies. 

Barry followed behind Mick, staying at his back, and waited for the moment when Mick finally stopped firing to flash around him right through the open door. 

Everything stilled again as Barry moved as fast as he could in a straight line right toward Cold. As he crossed the threshold, he saw the two young men who had been firing around the door both having dived for cover on either side as predicted, covering themselves to protect them from flames that were no longer fanning toward them. He saw a kid in the corner to the left clutching a laptop, unarmed and terrified. Then he saw the kid Rhodie had called Chalo, the leader, the one from the picture with Cold on the web, still holding the cold gun. 

But he wasn’t aiming at the entrance. He had the gun trained on Len—and he’d already pulled the trigger.

A blast of ice was in mid-eruption from the end of the cold gun. Despite the incoming danger, Len’s eyes focused on nothing but Barry as he dashed into the room. Len knew what was coming, but he didn’t look afraid. He just stared at Barry’s impending approach, and that wash of grief Barry had seen in the camera footage outside S.T.A.R. Labs filled his expression in awful slow motion, almost making Barry trip over his own feet. 

He wasn’t going to be fast enough. He wasn’t going to make it before Len was hit with the ice. 

He watched it all unfolding like a still motion picture, the way Len looked at him without trying to hide any of the emotion clear on his face, and then closed his eyes, accepting his fate, because he knew…he knew Barry couldn’t save him. 

“No!” Barry cried as he knocked the cold gun from Chalo’s hands, sending the remaining blast of ice careening off to the left to hit the wall before it finally stopped and the gun clattered to the floor. But the damage was done. Len was completely covered in ice, head to toe, engulfed. 

Chalo whirled to face Barry with a snarl, and Barry didn’t think, couldn’t think of anything but Len frozen in ice, didn’t even recognize that he was howling in anger until his fist connected with the kid’s jaw and dropped him with an eerily reminiscent crack to how he’d downed Len earlier. Only unlike Len, the kid was flat out unconscious, and good for him; Barry wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d had to hear that asshole spout off any smug remarks. 

Lisa screamed when she and Mick entered the room behind him, and as Barry came back to his senses, he worried they’d take out the remaining young men in the room in their fury. But when he turned, he saw Mick cowering the kids from the doorway into a corner, threatening them with his gun but not using it. The kid with the laptop stayed huddled where he was, knowing better than to make any foolish moves. 

Lisa rushed forward to join Barry with a look of utter panic and horror on her face as she took in the full sight of Len in ice. “Flash,” she choked out.

“Cisco,” Barry spoke into his com, “you made the cold gun non-lethal. What does that mean?”

“Wait, what? What are you—”

“If someone’s completely covered, how long do they have?!” Barry shouted. 

Cisco got with the program instantly. “The new settings for the gun mimic cryogenics, but not fully. If the thawing process can start in a few minutes, the person who’s frozen should be able to come out of it without any permanent damage. But it has to be immediately if they were fully covered.” He paused only for a moment as his mind began to work in overdrive. “There’s that giant tub in the floor below us. If we fill it with lukewarm water and slowly heat it…”

“Do it,” Barry ordered. “Get things ready. I’ll be there in under a minute if I can manage.” He centered his gaze on Lisa. “You and Mick have to get out of here. Joe and Eddie have the police on their way, and you know others will be coming. Meet me at the labs.” 

Lisa’s eyes were damp with tears and indecision, but she nodded, looking at Barry with such devout trust, he felt weighted down and knew there’d be hell to pay if he failed her. She looked to the lightning bolts at the side of his mask as she spoke. “Cisco…please…”

“Shit, shit…” was Cisco’s response, which she thankfully couldn’t hear. Barry picked up the distinct sound of Cisco running, darting through the labs to the elevator, and heard Caitlin calling after him, hot on his heels. 

“We’ll save him,” Barry promised Lisa, a hand on her shoulder, a momentary squeeze in support, then he looked past her at Mick, who also looked stricken and unsure in a way Barry had never seen before, but also ready to get both himself and Lisa out of there, Barry had no doubt. 

So he turned to Cold—to Len—frozen in ice from his own gun, and Barry didn’t feel any of the justified anger and self-satisfaction he once thought he’d feel seeing his enemy done in. He just wanted to make sure Len was okay, to talk to him again, demand an explanation for that last haunted expression he’d thrown him, looking like he wanted nothing more than to tell Barry he was sorry. 

If that was true then Barry wasn’t letting him get away without offering that apology someday—not a chance in hell. He grasped the encasement of ice as best he could, and flashed out of the building in the direction of S.T.A.R. Labs. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can think about is Mick's little shrug at Barry in the first scene, like "Eh, I've seen better." I don't know why I find that so funny!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race against the clock to thaw and save Captain Cold, who's not entirely sure he's worth saving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense...

Barry had never run so fast in his life—well, no, he knew that couldn’t be true, not when he’d run fast enough to go back in time before. But it felt like the fastest he’d ever gone when there was a single life held in the balance instead of many, as he flashed toward S.T.A.R. Labs, unable to slow his momentum even a little, or he wouldn’t have been able to hold onto the block of ice that had once been Leonard Snart. 

Without slowing, he took a moment within the familiar whirlwind of the speed force to look at Len, and he could see him through the mostly transparent ice, his eyes closed, his expression frozen into one of furrowed brow and resignation. It couldn’t end like this, not another instance when what was at fault was that Barry simply hadn’t been fast enough. 

He’d memorized the layout of S.T.A.R. Labs by now, knew exactly where to go to reach the room Cisco had indicated, with an overlarge basin for a hydroponics project he remembered Cisco once jabbering on about would also be perfect if they ever encountered a meta that breathed underwater. For now, Barry just hoped it filled with water fast enough because it was currently empty. 

He reached the room and set Len down with a huff. He was stronger than he used to be but it was complicated, still connected largely to his speed, and it was difficult to hold up the awkward shape and weight of a block of human ice once he stopped. 

Cisco and Caitlin were there to meet him, Cisco's hands flying over controls that at that same moment caused the tub to start filling with water. 

“Temperature control is crucial so he doesn’t go into shock, if he hasn’t already,” Cisco said as he saw Barry, then faltered when his eyes landed on Len. “Shit,” he said as he paused and then renewed his frenzied button pressing. “Wait until it’s at least halfway full, then get him in the tank.”

Caitlin had a medical kit with her, though it wouldn’t be as effective as the real equipment upstairs. For now, she was on standby, with a blanket spread over the floor in front of the tank where they could lay Len once he was thawed. 

“It’ll be okay, Barry,” she said when their eyes met. 

Barry nodded, catching his breath. He didn’t want to imagine how different things would be if Len hadn’t worked with Cisco to reprogram the gun before he left. He pressed a gloved hand to the ice. Len was like a seated statue, the chair he was tied to encased with him. But the tub was filling quickly, so Barry readied himself for the moment when Cisco gave the okay. 

“Now,” Cisco ordered, and Barry took off, doing one quick lap around the room to gain momentum again and then hoisting Len up and into the tank. 

The ice splashed without fully sinking at first, then became more and more engulfed. It settled to the floor of the tub as it began to dissolve, much faster than Barry had expected, since Cisco had said he’d start with lukewarm water the way it was done with hypothermia patients. 

“I added a solution that should help counteract the chemicals from the cold gun faster than simply melting it,” Cisco explained, picking up on Barry’s confused scowl. “He should be out of the ice in less than two minutes. Then you need to get him out of there.”

“Thank you,” Barry gasped, not knowing what else there was to say. He finally remembered he was still in his Flash suit, and tore his mask back from his face. 

“Thank me later,” Cisco said, his expression drawn, unsure but still with that familiar look of not giving up even while thinking rationally—just like a scientist. 

Caitlin shifted anxiously, as she knelt with her medical kit beside the blanket, implying she’d be ready the moment Barry got Len out. 

Waiting had become one of the more difficult things for Barry since becoming The Flash. Whenever there was a situation he couldn’t speed his way through, it felt like agony, like the slowest few seconds of his life to just wait, and wait, until the clock ticked down. 

“He’s out. Barry, now!” Cisco called. 

Barry had Len out of the tub, untied, and the chair tossed away into the corner of the room in seconds, lying him down, soaked through now in his slacks and button down, as gently as he could atop the blanket. He wasn’t breathing. 

“Caitlin.” Barry didn’t mean for his breath to catch, he really didn’t, but he couldn’t stop the surge of fear and panic from rising. 

“No pulse. He’s already in shock.” She ripped his shirt open midway, destroying several of the buttons. “Barry, I need you to—” She cut herself off as she looked at his hands. 

Barry understood immediately, fully focused on what she was asking of him, and commanded his hands to vibrate until they were an indistinct blur. “Tell me when.”

She tilted Len’s head back to clear his airway. “Now.”

Barry brought his hands to Len’s bare chest with a shock and pulse of lightning. Caitlin gave two breaths of mouth to mouth, but there was no response. 

“Again, Barry.”

Another jolt. 

Another two breaths. 

“Again.”

On the third jolt, Len gasped and coughed and rolled to the side away from Caitlin, sputtering only trace amounts of water before he went limp. Caitlin rolled him to his back again, but he was out, his chest moving up and down at a steady rhythm the only indication that this was at least better, he was better, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. 

Caitlin checked his vitals with careful precision, and only then did Barry notice that Cisco had walked up to them, hovering nearby with his arms crossed and agitated as he swayed. Barry looked to his friend gratefully, then to Caitlin who sighed in relief, seemingly satisfied with everything she’d discovered. 

“Barry, I need you to get him up to the main labs now,” Caitlin said, “on the hospital bed so I can do a more thorough check. He should be okay, but there’s no way to know about later trauma or more serious damage until we get him up there and wait for him to regain consciousness. Keep him as still as you can along the way, and…well…” She cringed a little as she looked down at Len’s soaked form. “Dry clothes would be helpful if you can manage.”

Even if Barry hadn’t helped Len change before, or seen him under more intimate circumstances, there would be no threat of embarrassment today, not if anything he did meant Len would get better faster. “I’ll meet you up there,” he said, and took Len into his arms. 

He flashed up to the main floor with practiced ease and laid Len back on the same hospital bed he’d first rested him on when he brought him here all those days ago. Days—it felt like so much longer, in both good and terrible ways. 

He sped through getting a towel and fresh clothes from the closet, and had Len dry and changed into S.T.A.R. Labs sweats in moments. Len's heartrate remained steady, his breaths rhythmic in his unconscious state. His skin didn’t even look reddened from the cold. 

Then Barry remembered the photograph from the post online, and pulled up the pant leg on Len’s left leg. He hadn’t looked too closely while changing him, but now he could see that the leg that had been iced for hours looked raw, like the beginnings of frost bite or a burn. He kept the pant leg rolled up so Caitlin could see it. 

Then all he could do was wait for them to join him. He pulled up a stool and sat by Len’s head, amazed and so disbelieving that they were even here, early afternoon only hours since he’d seen Len that morning, when he’d be so angry and distraught, he thought he’d want to either cry or punch things for the remainder of the week. Now he just wanted Len to be okay. To open his eyes. 

For a brief moment he wondered if all this trauma would lead to memory loss again, but god he hoped not. Barry couldn’t go through that again, and Len shouldn’t have to. Barry missed the friend he'd made, but he didn’t want him as some substitute for the real thing, some altered life model decoy. That wasn’t fair. Len had a right to make his own decisions about what he wanted and who he was. Barry just hoped…

He didn’t know what he hoped. He still didn’t know if he could forgive this man the things he’d said and done, but he couldn’t stand the thought of not being allowed to try. If Len asked, if Len wanted forgiveness. 

Barry wondered when it was he’d stopped thinking of Len as just Cold again.

He heard the elevator, the rustle of Cisco and Caitlin approaching, so he reached out quickly, laid a hand on Len’s forehead and passed it soothingly back over the short, buzzed strands of hair. “Just wake up, okay? Just wake up… You can make all this up to me later,” he finished with a small, faltering smile.

Then Caitlin and Cisco were there, checking Len over, a whirl of machines and tubes and sounds, and Barry just felt in the way. He took the stool with him and moved to the far side of the room to wait for the chaos to still again. Neither of them ever looked hopeless or resigned, just serious, diligent, and focused on their jobs.

They really were remarkable people, saving the enemy with the same careful care as they would have tried to save Barry. They inspired Barry as much as anyone in his life, and he hoped they knew that, though he probably never said it enough, but he was so thankful for them in that moment, watching them work, a whole other caliber of hero.

Time stopped making sense for the next several minutes, both slow and amazingly fast. Barry changed out of the Flash suit, grabbed his phone, checked in with Joe and Eddie. He hadn’t even really taken the time to wonder if Mick and Lisa would go against his wishes once he flashed out of there, but there had been no fire, no bodies found covered in gold, other than the one man from Santini with his hand coated. 

Apparently, the kids that had remained in the building had been threatened with penalty of being turned to cinders later if they didn’t wait for the police to show up. They were all in custody, with no one who had made the threat anywhere in sight. 

Several other criminals with outstanding warrants for arrest had been apprehended in the area, so it was an overall huge win for the CCPD, and for Joe and Eddie in particular who had ‘discovered’ the post about Captain Cold and thought to send in uniforms before things got ugly. The fact that Leonard Snart was nowhere to be found was just as well, since he currently didn’t have any evidence against him in any ongoing cases, which of course Barry took as a slight jab from Joe when he reminded him of that. CCPD wouldn’t be looking for Len at any rate, even if many others throughout the city probably would. 

But Joe finished by letting Barry know he’d be by to check on things as soon as he and Eddie finished up at the station. He didn’t like the idea of Barry and the others being alone with Cold again. Of course Barry reminded him that Lisa and Mick would be headed over too, so to please, please not use any of their potential warrants against them, because they had an uneasy truce right now that Barry intended to honor, at least until Len was recovered. If something changed between them and the Rogues after that, well…so be it. But Barry wasn’t going to be the one to setup the betrayal. He didn’t want to be that man. He didn't want to be like...

Cold.

So in the midst of watching Cisco and Caitlin tend to Len and declare him in stable condition, and texting Joe, along with some encouraging, supportive texts from Eddie, Barry was thrown by how quickly enough time passed that Mick and Lisa showed up to join them. 

As soon as Lisa saw Len on the table, hooked up to several machines that blessedly showed a steady pulse and perfectly normal vitals, and Cisco gave her an encouraging smile, the tightness in her walk and shoulders vanished. She and Mick had come in completely silent, and Barry only really registered it when he had to drop his phone on the table beside him to accept Lisa's body pressed to his, arms wrapping tight around his neck. He didn't know how to respond except to hold her back.

She moved to Cisco next, embracing him a little more full bodied, Barry thought, murmuring quiet thank you’s over and over, and it made Barry smile because...Len would be okay. Even the bad guys deserved a moment with their families. 

Barry couldn't think of them as the bad guys right now though, not when Mick's large hand came down on his shoulder, the man's hard, tight gaze somehow betraying a rarely seen softness in his gratitude. Barry nodded; he'd just done his job, after all, but then...he knew he'd worked harder, ran faster, and second guessed himself that much more through every second of it purely because it was Len, and he cared, really cared about Len despite everything. He...

He turned away from Mick's intense stare as he felt the tears he'd been holding back start to rise again. He focused on Lisa moving the stool he’d used before to sit beside Len herself now while Cisco explained that Caitlin was just as instrumental in saving Cold, and the pair of them tried to tell her that he should be okay, but that they had to wait until he woke up to know for certain.

Lisa just nodded, held her brother's hand, said, "You'll be fine, Lenny, you know better than to leave me alone again..." and smiled in contentment.

Barry heard Mick sniff, a short, barely perceptible noise, and when he looked over, while there was no obvious wetness in the man's eyes, there was a subtle challenge there, daring Barry to comment about Heat Wave getting choked up. Barry smiled and patted Mick's arm—he wasn't foolish enough to poke that bear—and moved aside to let Lisa and Mick have some time alone with Len.

XXXXX

The first thing Len became aware of was how wonderfully warm he was, in softer fabrics than his suit, the shirt and slacks he thought he last remembered wearing. Then came distant voices, ones he knew, thank goodness, ones he knew wouldn't hurt him, ones he loved—Lisa, he definitely heard Lisa—each voice sounding calm and quiet, not hurried or concerned. 

But next came the pain, a throbbing pulse all over his skin, like a faint sunburn that hurt enough to wake him, and then his leg—oh god, his leg! It ached with some of the worst pain he’d ever experienced, and the sudden sharp, unbearable sting made him cry out.

He turned and thrashed and tried to roll over in the darkness.

"Len!" called Lisa.

And he was weightless, falling, heading for the floor, but he never made contact. Someone had him, someone caught him, and the next moment he had something solid beneath his back again.

Len groaned. He wanted to open his eyes, but feared the pain would only grow worse in the light of day, so he reached out for that someone beside him, his hand shaking until soft, warm skin gripped it. 

"Caitlin, he's in pain. We have to give him something." 

Barry. It was Barry. 

Len hung on tighter. Everything felt muddled in his head. His iced leg, a dark room, tied to a chair seeing Barry coming to rescue him, but he wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t going to make it in time before the cold had Len and everything went black. It didn’t make sense. Whatever had happened, Barry had saved him though. And fuck, it hurt...

"Already on it," Caitlin said, close on Len's other side, and bless them for having some sort of stronger pain meds finally in the lab—Len knew that's where he had to be—because he felt instant relief as whatever Caitlin was giving him coursed through his veins. 

They had an IV in him; he must be in pretty bad shape.

“Len, I need you to try and look at me, okay?” Caitlin’s voice filtered down to him. 

As the pain subsided, the request didn’t sound quite as nauseating, but he still grimaced at the bright light of the room when he first dared comply. His vision was blurry a moment before it focused on Caitlin’s hovering, fretful face. She had one of those doctor pen lights that were so annoying to have shined in your eyes, and he knew what was coming. 

“Follow the light for me,” she said, and blinded him with a few quick flashes while he did as she asked. He had a headache and his jaw throbbed for some reason, but that seemed to be fading in the wake of the pain meds too.

Len felt his right hand being lowered to the hospital bed from how he had it suspended to reach for Barry, the kid’s fingers starting to release him, to let go. Len appreciated the rest back on the bed, but tightened his grip on Barry’s fingers. It seemed so important to hang onto him, but Len couldn’t remember why.

He risked a glance at the kid as Caitlin moved on to check other things, and when their eyes met, Len gave Barry a sort of grimacing smile—because it hurt and he felt like he couldn’t really move, but there was this blissful numbness enclosing around him that made it all seem somehow less important than the returned smile, however strained, and damp hazel eyes looking down at him.

A hand gently touched his ankle, the right one since the left still stung and seemed to have the pants leg pulled up. Len glanced down to see Lisa at his feet, smiling in relief, with Mick beside her looking all sorts of put out, which Len recognized as his ‘how dare you make us worry, you ass’ expression. It all seemed a little surreal with them there, and Barry and Caitlin on either side of him, even Cisco peering over Lisa’s shoulder with a slight frown on his face.

“Len?” Caitlin said, and he thought maybe she’d said his name a couple times actually. He looked to her again and she offered that polite smile with downturned eyebrows he was used to when she was worried more than sincere. He must have shown his own worry in the wake of it, because she pressed on, “You’re fine. Really. We need to keep an eye on things for a while, keep you for observation to make sure there aren’t any surprises, but it looks like you should recover. Your leg though…the one that was in the ice longer…” She bit her lip.

His leg. It had been iced first. By his own gun, he remembered, and as it started to come back to him, he recalled a vicious, crazed young man and a feeling of helpless absolution. 

Cisco pushed around the others to come up next to Caitlin. “What we did to reprogram the cold gun lessened what the damage might have been, but your leg was still iced for hours. There’s some deep tissue damage beneath the more superficial skin damage, so you’ll probably have trouble walking on it for a while. A little regular physical therapy should make that easier, and eventually, it should fully heal, though to be honest, it might always give you a little trouble from now on.” He didn’t look particularly bothered to give Len this news, maybe even a little indignantly justified. 

And Len knew even before the last of the haziness lifted from his memories that he couldn’t blame the kid. He really, really couldn’t. 

His eyes drifted back to Barry, and it dawned on him as he remembered everything with an awful jolt…that he didn’t deserve to clutch that hand. The truth came back to him so much faster than the first time he’d lost his memories, like watching a recording rewind as he stared into Barry’s eyes.

Their gazes meeting across that cold, damp room, a beam of ice already on its way to cover Len, knowing he was out of time and accepting of it, because he’d gotten himself into that mess all on his own. 

Realizing he wanted to take back every way he’d torn the kid down, longing for just one more moment to see Barry again, to tell him he wished he could try and be a better man.

The ridiculousness of being bested by a bunch of brats.

The crippling grief when Len realized he hadn’t meant any of the things he’d said to Barry in that warehouse, and never would. He just wanted to take it all back, but Barry was walking away, flashing out of his life again, and he couldn’t get the words past his lips before he blacked out.

Thinking that the only way he could ever be free of Barry Allen was by breaking him into jagged pieces—and he’d succeeded.

“Barry,” he said, his voice cracking from emotion and the trauma of what his body had gone through. But what else could he say? He didn’t deserve forgiveness. 

He let his hand go limp until Barry slid his own fingers away and stood tall beside him, nodding with a sort of stiff detachment that Len hated, because it wasn’t that he didn’t want to apologize, he just didn’t know how to start.

He hadn’t been able to think of anything but Barry while he was nursing a frozen leg and a bruised ego, and now all the ways he’d imagined trying to make this up to Barry turned stale on his tongue.

Lisa was there in Barry’s place, and Mick, Team Flash forgotten as Lisa hugged him far gentler than he was used to, mindful of the tubes in his arm and nearby machines. Mick merely nodded in satisfaction despite the state Len was in. He’d be fine, no reason to get emotional—that was Mick—but that he was here at all said more than enough.

Lisa stayed leaning over the bed, hands fingering the fabric of the S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt Len had been dressed in—again. At least it was warm.

“I’m going to spend the entire time you’re recovering thinking of ways to get back at you for this,” Lisa promised him with a twinkle of mischief breaking through her distress. “I can’t believe you lied to me. To me, Lenny. Though I guess I don’t know how I would have reacted if you’d confessed you didn’t even remember your own name that night.”

It took Len a moment to realize that she was saying she knew; she knew the whole truth, about everything, which meant Barry and the others knew it hadn’t been a lie or a scam. Len felt his body tense with the realization that all of his secrets were laid bare before people he’d so rarely been honest with.

“Got your cold gun though,” Mick said, producing it like some awful magic trick from out of his large jacket, which he was still wearing despite being rid of his gloves and goggles. He held the gun up harmlessly, but the sight of it made Len’s insides lurch remembering how the ice had felt on his skin. 

“Hey!” Cisco darted forward from where he, Barry, and Caitlin had backed off, his expression challenging and assertive despite their size difference and Mick being armed. “You can’t just wave that around. It’s not yours. It’s not his either, technically,” Cisco shot Len a quick glare, “so if you’re going to be staying here while Cold recovers, I expect you to let me lock that and both of your guns away.”

“You wanna see if you can make me?” Mick lowered the cold gun but loomed over Cisco menacingly, and Len had to give credit to the kid, because he only just barely flinched. 

But the part of Len that wanted to smirk and egg Mick on, to see how far Cisco could be pushed, dwindled with the feeling of something else pushing to the surface—a feeling of not wanting this sweet kid to be afraid of him, when against all odds, he’d believe in Len, helped him, told him that maybe if he just had the will, he could be the man he really wanted to be instead of what he’d fallen into, and who’d told him he could stay, right here, for as long as he wanted. 

Len saw that offer crumbled into dust now—or maybe ash in the wake of Mick’s flames. 

“Do what he says, Mick. You too, Lisa,” Len commanded with as much authority in his words as he could muster in his weakened state. “Hand over the guns.”

Mick looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind, and the funny things was, Len had. He had lost his mind, found it again, and gotten it so turned around, he didn’t know what was real anymore, but he knew he didn’t want to see Mick and Cisco at each other’s throats. 

“It’s just temporary, Mick. When we leave, we’ll take them back.” He eyed Cisco stoically, who shook his head with a deep-seated scowl like he honestly couldn’t believe Len, even if he was telling the others to do as he asked. 

“I shouldn’t let you take them back at all,” Cisco snarled, “but fine. I shudder to think what you’d do to me if I tried to say no.” But there wasn’t any fear in his words, not even when he glared back at Mick and held out his hand for the cold gun. 

Len had never seen Cisco so defiant and bold. He remembered a frightened young man who’d shivered and pleaded for his brother’s safety before sobbing out Barry Allen’s identity, hating himself for having no other option than betrayal of a good friend, and looking hunched and weak and lost because of it. This was a different young man entirely. 

Mick begrudgingly handed the gun over, then removed his own gun from his coat and handed that to Cisco as well, and despite the heavy load, Cisco waited for Lisa to unclip hers from her belt before moving away with all of them gathered in his arms to store in a locker set against the wall. 

“Just for tonight,” Len said when Lisa raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and Mick clenched his fists. “In the morning, we’ll take them back…and we’ll be out of your hair,” he turned his head to address Barry. 

Barry’s arms fell out of how he’d had them crossed, his frowning expression turning blank. 

Caitlin, however, stormed forward. “What? No! You can’t just leave in the morning, not until we’ve had more time to assess your condition.” She braced her hands on the foot of the bed and looked at Len seriously. “Your heart stopped. You weren’t breathing when we got you out of the ice.”

A fresh chill ran down Len’s spine, but he shook it away. “Look, you don’t want us here anymore than we want to be here, so we’ll stay the night, and as long as I don’t flat line in my sleep, in the morning we’ll be gone.” 

An immediate, disbelieving huff sounded from Barry, but he didn’t approach Len or the others as Cisco and Caitlin had. He kept his distance, crossed his arms again, and met Len’s gaze with a fury. “Well you certainly are good at that trick, so why am I surprised. Round two, same ending. You leave and we just go right back to how things were before, like nothing ever happened. Why do I keep…?” But as the anger in his voice gave way to something heavier and catching, he let himself trail off and tightened his arms to will the emotions away. 

The coldness of it made Len’s chest feel tight. 

“Fine,” Barry snapped, only looking at him long enough to glare and then tearing his eyes away. “Whatever. Do what you want. But if you have some sort of relapse from leaving before you’ve recovered, don’t expect us to answer your call the next time you need our help.” He turned and started to walk away, heading out of the room. 

But no, wait—that wasn’t what Len wanted! He just didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to be some awful reminder of everything he’d done when it had seemed so clear to him that they wanted nothing more to do with him. 

Cisco looked pissed as he approached after storing the guns away, and Caitlin, on Len’s other side, held herself stiffly, her lips tight like Len remembered both of them from when they’d discovered him with Barry in the lounge that first morning. Len had forced Barry away again, when all he’d wanted this time was to protect him. 

“You should get some rest,” Caitlin said, eyeing Lisa and Mick with apprehension, and Len with barely contained disdain. Her disapproval stung more than it should for someone he’d known for so short a time. She glanced at the others again. “Meaning it would be better if you all left, and frankly…if you’re going to stick around the labs, you better steer clear of Barry. He hasn’t been himself lately,” she finished shortly, and turned to follow after Barry out of the room. 

Lisa hovered as Cisco and Mick dispersed, following Caitlin’s lead. Mick made a half-hearted lunge for Cisco just to see him flinch, and Lisa rolled her eyes at the antics. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over with those two. You know Mick means well,” she said. “Well…in regards to you, and he’ll leave Cisco alone if he knows what’s best for him in regards to me.” She smirked, then planted her hand on her hip as she said, “Now…I think this is the part where you start begging for forgiveness.” 

Len sighed. “Lisa, I’m sorry I lied to you, I just—”

“Not to me, idiot,” she shot back. “Though we can come back to how you’re going to make this up to me later.”

The truth of what she meant dawned on Len like the clang of a bell, and the way her smile fell into something like sympathy more than sisterly teasing only made it worse. “Lisa…I can’t make up for what I tried to do to him. You didn’t see how far I took it when I had him alone.”

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted, “But who the hell cares? You actually want to make up for it. You! I don’t even have to hear the whole story to know that much, and I heard about the memory loss, the panic attacks. Jesus, Lenny… You want him. Barry Allen. A goddamn CSI and local superhero,” she all but laughed. “You want him so much, you’ve been making yourself sick, and almost got yourself killed.” 

He flinched back as she let her arm drop and pressed both of her hands to the bed, the humor in her expression falling away entirely. 

“Do you know how worried about you the kid was through all of it? Almost as much as me, and that’s saying something. This isn’t a one way thing, Lenny.” 

“It’s not that simple,” he said, and damn it…he was so tired, and feeling the fuzziness left by the drugs stronger than ever, but he struggled to focus on Lisa’s face. 

“I know it’s not,” she said. “And I’m not saying there’s a simple answer. But you have to start somewhere, and what you just pulled, the strong, silent, everything will be fine if we just go back to the way things were act, is not going to fly this time, not unless you want to have a panic attack on every job we ever pull again in the future.” 

Len’s brow furrowed almost against his will as a flutter of anger surged through him. “I thought you didn’t think he was worth the trouble. That nothing could ever change enough in me for it to matter. That nothing good could ever come from wanting him?” 

Sadness overtook Lisa’s pale blue eyes, in a way Len rarely saw from adult Lisa the way he remembered of his little sister, and that instantly made him want to pull her close to him and hold her. “I know, Lenny. And I really thought that was the truth back then. But I guess I underestimated you, coz here we are. And maybe here isn’t so bad a place to be.” She turned her head, and the longing on her face didn’t need the form of Cisco within eyesight for it be obvious what she wanted. 

Len felt as low as he yet had, because he was starting to realize that if he had stayed away, she would have too, even if she wanted to try for something Len never thought he’d want for himself. “You don’t have to take your cues from me, you know,” he said softly.

She turned back to him with a weak smile. “Yeah, but…you’d get lonely if I didn’t stick around. What’s that stupid saying you always use, Lenny, the one about dancing?” She grinned with a sort of wistful sway as she stood up straight again. “If we’re all fools together…” 

“…then we might as well dance,” he finished. It was one of those sayings he never remembered the origins of, but that always seemed to fit the moment, because hell, it was the mantra for his whole life, and he didn’t mind that—being a fool—as long as he enjoyed life and got what he wanted out of it. 

The problem was…he wanted something he’d never prepared for or anticipated. 

“Get some rest, Lenny,” Lisa said, apparently deciding it was time to let him think on all she’d said, and what had happened. And he really was so tired. 

The soft clicks and beeps of the medical equipment were a strange though fitting lullaby, as Lisa kissed his forehead and headed out of the room.

She paused on her way out the door. “You grew a conscious where that bleeding heart idiot carved a hole in you. Adorable idiot, but an idiot. Just like you. Going clean…shoot, Lenny,” she chuckled, “it does sound boring. But going clean with Team Flash? I don’t know if that would be boring at all.”

As she finally left him alone, Len thought on her words, her advice, and just what it would take to finally get everything he wanted. When his eyes drifted closed in the calm numbness of the drugs in his system, he just hoped that if he dreamed, they were nicer dreams than the ones he’d had lately. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it was going to end with them on good terms, and then Len opened his damn mouth and shit went down I hadn't planned, and poor Barry got the WRONG idea, and it all just spiraled from there. But it will get better! After all, Len's laid up and stuck at the labs, and there's still alot of the day and night left before morning. :-)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little help from good friends goes a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song's for you, coldflashtrash!

Len didn’t dream, which was a blessing, not about anything tangible or that he could remember when he started to rouse. He slept hard the first few hours, dead to the world entirely, but started to phase back in to the sound of voices hushed around him. He assumed it was early evening now, but couldn’t really grasp how much time had passed since he was last awake.

The first voice he noticed was Detective West talking with Caitlin, asking if she was certain it was safe to let him stay, not to mention the other Rogues, seeming only slightly appeased when she informed him that her husband would be staying the night as well. They would face this as a unified front, and nothing was going to sneak up on them again. 

Len remembered Ronnie—Firestorm. Mick would no doubt be pleased, if only to ply the other man with questions about how exactly he could erupt into flames and come out of it unscathed. 

Len drifted in and out again, and eventually heard Lisa and Cisco. All the short, biting animosity Cisco had shown earlier facing down Mick was gone from his voice now, but Len couldn’t quite catch what they were talking about. He just knew that Lisa sounded…soft. She never sounded soft. 

He eventually caught that Lisa and Mick were leaving for a short time to gather some clothes and necessary items for staying the night, and whatever they might need to head out in the morning. ‘Might’ being the main word Len caught from Lisa, because he knew she wouldn’t rest until he agreed to stay longer, even if it meant Cisco threatened to keep their guns for longer too. 

Mick and Lisa. Caitlin and Ronnie. Cisco. They were all staying at the labs for the night with Len, to watch over him—and each other—and yet it was more the humor of it all that struck Len rather than thoughts of this crew being such strange bedfellows and distrustful of each other. A giant sleepover in the lounge of S.T.A.R. Labs while Len remained hooked up to machines in the other room. Hilarious. 

Only Barry wasn’t included in the voices, or any of the names mentioned, other than one final, brief word from West that Barry had gone home. Maybe he honestly hoped Len would be gone in the morning so he wouldn’t have to see him again. Len would stay longer if only to get the chance to try and make it up to Barry that he'd once again said all the wrong things.

Finally, the next time he woke, he actually opened his eyes, noting the silence and the dark, other than a dim light on near him and the blinking lights from the machines. He really needed to use the bathroom. There was a call button attached to the bed, but he wasn't sure who it alerted, and he didn't want to be a bother, or wake everyone for something as benign as nature calling.

He took a moment to assess himself; he felt groggy, fuzzy, but not so much that he couldn't hobble his way to the bathroom. Carefully, he pulled out the IV and a few suctioned monitors from his chest, sending the machines into a thankfully silent tizzy. He wouldn't be long.

Len remembered his leg about the time he first put weight on it, probably because it was also when his body gave an all over ache from being disconnected from the steady drip of pain meds. But it wasn't like earlier. He could breathe through it, he could make it. 

He kept his weight on his right leg, but his first step proved how weak the left was and he nearly sank to the floor. He flailed back to grab the bed.

"What are you doing?" an irritated voice hissed at him.

Len looked over at the entrance into the lounge to see Cisco—longer hair somewhat tussled, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats, barefoot—so normal and domestic, save for the tablet in his hand and the strained exasperation playing over his face.

"Trying to get to the bathroom," Len whispered back. He didn't like the way his stomach flipped being under Cisco's scrutiny, or the feeling of helplessness at not being able to stand.

"Why didn't you press the button?" Cisco snapped as he moved swiftly across the room.

"I didn't know where it would go," Len defended.

"Here." Cisco thrust out the tablet, which currently showed the heart monitor and a continuous, straight, blinking line. "Like you flat-lining."

Oh. Shit. "Sorry," Len said reflexively, though reflexive of what exactly he didn’t know. Being in the labs with Cisco? Or maybe just because he meant it.

Cisco met his gaze in the dark, and a twinge of remorse was there, though Len wasn't sure for what, because it was replaced in moments with frustration again. Cisco set the tablet down and moved in to take Len's side and save him from his awkward leaning on the bed.

Len tried to support as much of his own weight as he could—the kid was quite a bit smaller than him after all—but Cisco held him up steadily and they started the slightly more arduous trek to the bathroom than Len had expected. Len tried to think of something to say as they moved, anything, but then they were crossing the lounge, and the soothing sound of deep breathing reminded him that everyone else was asleep.

Lisa and Mick had the sofa, Mick the long way where Len had once slept, and Lisa down the chaise side that Barry had hardly used. The cot Barry had literally never used was disrupted with hastily tossed blankets, indicating Cisco had come from there. And in the corner, gathered together on an air mattress, slept Caitlin and Ronnie. The sight didn’t fail to amuse Len, but the absence of Barry kept him from smiling.

It was strange not feeling any of the desire to hurt Barry that he had felt the morning before, when he’d thought that breaking his nemesis was the only option. Len was the one who was ruined now, and he knew he’d earned it.

Cisco helped him to the bathroom and into the handicap stall so he could more easily keep himself steady without needing the kid to actually assist any further, which was more than enough; Len could make this work. He did so without trouble, and actually managed to put a little more weight on his leg when he hefted himself up and moved out of the stall again, limping but moving on his own. Cisco still appeared to support him and helped lead him to the sinks.

Len saw his reflection for the first time since that morning—it was jarring enough that he didn’t immediately wash his hands, but stared. He looked pale, his eyes darkened with fatigue, the S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt a bold reminder of the past week. 

But more striking than any of the rest was the bruising. He’d anticipated it, but over the past few hours, it had set in more vibrantly. It was a deep, dark purple now, with sickly green and strained pink around the edges. It covered the entire left side of his jaw, right around the bone, and when Len touched fingers gingerly to the splattering of color, he instantly hissed, even with some faint traces of medication left in his system. He wondered how much worse it would look if Barry had punched any harder.

As he leaned forward on the sink, washing his hands without being able to take his eyes off of his sorry state through the mirror, he caught Cisco’s gaze behind him. The kid still held a hand to Len’s back in case he stumbled, but leaned away and frowned like he was wishing for an excuse to add a few more bruises to the collection. 

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Len said, unsure how to face this challenge when he hadn’t yet figured out how he was going to face Barry. 

He turned around and leaned back on the sink so Cisco didn’t have to support him. The younger man’s dark eyes held mostly loathing, but there was something else there too. 

Len spread his hands like an invitation. “I’d say I’ve been through worse, but I suppose that’s not entirely true. Still, if you want to take a shot, be my guest.”

Cisco clenched his fists like he was sorely tempted to take him up on that offer. “You know what the worst part is?” he grit out. “That I’m the one who tried to convince Barry to give you another chance."

Len blinked at him, shocked.

"He didn’t tell us everything that happened at the bank,” Cisco went on, “Lisa doesn’t know, only you and Barry, but I know it was bad. Still, Caitlin and I called him back here, before we found out about you being taken. I showed him what you looked like when you got out of the labs and first tried to walk away from the building.”

There were cameras outside the labs facing the building? Len hadn’t expected that. But if there were, then he instantly knew what Cisco was referring to. The way he’d first shaken and second guessed himself when he tried to leave, unsure if he really could, but determined, stubborn in his resolve to put this behind him. To put Barry behind him.

“You want to know what I first thought when I found that footage?” Cisco said, as confident and resolute as Len had yet seen him. “I thought, shit, that’s what. I thought, fuck this, it isn’t fair. You don’t get to change, and then backpedal, and then backpedal again. But I had to show Barry. I had to prove to him that he wasn’t wrong to believe in people, even if you were the worst example, even though I knew, I fucking knew you’d let him down again.”

He threw his arms up into a crossed position and finally looked away from Len, maybe to keep from actually punching him, the curses quick on his tongue with nothing held back. 

Len remembered how Cisco had first reacted around him without his memories, completely mistrusting and confrontational, though still nervous like he thought at any moment Len might turn the cold gun on him point blank and fire. Now all that nervousness was gone, just the anger remaining. And Len understood that, because there was something easier about taking a terrifying experience—when Len had taken Cisco and his brother, threatened him, forced Barry’s identity from him—and turning it into something that you faced with ferocity and violence instead of cowering. 

It’s how Len had lived his whole life after he’d walked away from his father. He didn’t want to see that reflected in Cisco.

“I’m sorry,” he said, which he knew was the weakest attempt at apologizing, and the way Cisco sneered at him proved he felt the same. Len tried again. “I am. Truly. For all of it. You said your brother was okay after what I did to him, and I’m glad for that. And I know you’ve never forgiven me for making you tell me Barry’s name—”

“You think?”

"Cisco..."

“Because Barry, he’s…he’s special, you know? And I don’t just mean because of the speed.” Cisco swayed on his heels like he wanted to pace, and suddenly threw his hands to his sides again. “He’s an honestly good, decent guy, who wants nothing more than to help people. Who believes the best in people even when he shouldn’t, even when they…betray him.” The catch of sorrow on the words painted a picture not of Len’s betrayal, but of Cisco’s. 

And now there were tears in the kid’s eyes, and Len didn't know what to say.

“I was almost starting to believe you,” Cisco pushed on. “Barry kept insisting that we should be willing to help anyone, to forgive anyone, and I wanted to believe that. Then for you to just walk away and shit on that, no,” he shook his head vehemently, “no way was I going to let some asshole be the reason Barry Allen lost hope in other people. 

“So I made myself try one more time, pushed Barry to believe it too, even though I wanted nothing more than to take his side and say, hell yeah, Cold’s a dick, screw him. I backed you, and the first chance you got, you threw it in our faces. You’re just going to take the guns and go, just walk away again, and Lisa…” now he looked really stricken, “…she’s so certain she can change your mind, that you’ll surprise me. So go ahead, Cold, please…because I’m still waiting.”

In the aftermath of Cisco’s biting words, Len felt the energy drain from him, the need to be back in that bed powerful and nauseating, along with the need to rid himself of the sting of pain creeping up gradually from everywhere, especially his leg. But the worst was the grief, because it was harder than he ever remembered to witness someone else's pain unveiled before his eyes and shrug it off. He felt it seep into his skin from the short distance between them, and his breath caught. 

He stepped forward without thinking and stumbled, thrown off guard by his once again unsteady footing and how little his left leg could support him. If Cisco hadn’t been there to clumsily catch him, he would have slammed right into the tile floor.

At least it was easier to speak into Cisco's shoulder than look him in the eyes. “If you had seen and heard what really happened in that warehouse…you wouldn’t have bothered trying to defend me.” 

“You’re damn right,” Cisco said with a huff as he shifted Len against him so not all of his weight was pressing down, “so consider yourself lucky. You’ve got a long road ahead before you deserve to even look Barry in the eyes again.” 

He pushed Len away from him, and for a moment, Len thought he was actually throwing him to the floor, but then Cisco turned and hooked his shoulder under Len’s arm, practiced, like he’d had a little more experience than Len had given him credit for lugging around someone larger than him.

“This was exactly what I told you about on day one,” Cisco said. “I told you that if this was somehow an act just to get to Barry, to any of us, and you betrayed us again…”

“It wasn’t an act.”

“No. What you did was worse.” Cisco lurched them toward the door.

"Wait..." Len wasn't going to let the kid drag him back to bed until he said this, so he made himself enough dead weight to keep Cisco from being able to pull them forward. 

When Cisco turned worried eyes on him, thinking Len was actually about to drop, Len forced himself to meet the kid's gaze and hold it. If he couldn't do this, he'd never be able to manage with Barry.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and it still amazed him how much he meant it, and instead of returning to the practiced ease of being, well...cold, he summoned the man he'd so easily been when all he knew was that an adorable fool in a red suit had saved him. "I didn't know what else to do. I panicked, made the wrong call, and I can't…change that. Now I'm paying for it. I tried to bury myself so I wouldn't have to…to feel this, but I want...I...I want..." The room swayed and Len started to sink.

"Hey," Cisco hissed, tightening his hold and only barely keeping Len upright. "Come on, stay with me. I believe you, okay, just stop. I have to get you back to bed."

Len nodded, rallying himself, and somehow, one slow step at a time, with Cisco’s help he made it across the lounge again and back to the hospital bed. He sunk down into it gratefully when Cisco helped him lie back.

Cisco was quick, quiet, and practiced as he replaced Len's IV and the heart monitor up under his sweatshirt. The thrum of pain meds brought Len back to alertness for a moment before his mind began to grow fuzzy again with the call for sleep. Still, he managed to snatch up Cisco's wrist before the kid could walk away.

"Thank you," he said wholeheartedly, and Cisco looked conflicted as he stared back at him.

Eventually, he sighed, seeming to make an effort to not immediately jerk his hand out of Len’s grip. "I can’t be the only one keeping Barry together. I’m not, believe me, shouldering your bullshit on Barry’s behalf is a chore for more than one person," he clarified sharply, "but you better believe we expect you to pick up some of the slack now if you really mean what you're saying. Because if you ever, ever try something like that again…”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Cold—”

“I won’t.”

“That means no running off with the guns in the morning or—”

“I know,” Len said weakly, not because he didn’t mean it, or didn’t try to say it with conviction, but because he was so tired again and could barely keep his grip on Cisco. He smiled when, even though he lost his hold on the kid, Cisco’s hand came up to rest atop his. “You actually think…Barry could forgive me?”

“He already does,” Cisco said with some resignation, but at last, finally with some sign that his anger was waning and he might, just might really believe Len. “Barry’s sort of hopeless like that. Now you just need to earn it. He’ll be back tomorrow,” he said with a brief squeeze of Len’s hand before he pulled away. “So start practicing your apology…Len. Because Barry’s going to take a lot more than me.”

Len nodded drowsily. “Thank you,” he said again, and let his eyes close before he ended up mumbling anything incoherent. 

“Don’t let me down again, man,” Cisco muttered quietly as he walked away, his voice faint but just loud enough that Len heard his last words before drifting back into unconsciousness, “or Lisa.”

XXXXX

The last thing Barry had expected when he went home was that he’d actually sleep. In truth, he had gone home, realized he couldn’t possibly sit still for so many hours before it was late enough to crash, and went back to work for a while. The benefit of being The Flash was that he could do that, and for the most part no one had even noticed he’d been gone. He got some more work done and eventually headed home again. 

He knew Joe had gone to S.T.A.R. Labs but he just didn’t want to talk about any of it, and was content enough to know that while Joe was there, Len had basically been unconscious the entire time anyway. Ronnie staying the night with everyone seemed to relieve some of Joe’s tension over the situation, but even though Barry honestly believed that Lisa and Mick wouldn’t try anything, not while Len was still in such bad shape, nothing seemed to reduce his own tension. 

All he could think about was how Len’s eyes had shifted once everything caught up with him after he woke up. How he’d pulled away from Barry, and said in no simple terms that he had no intention of being anything but what he was, despite Barry’s heroic rescue. In the morning he’d leave again, and probably sooner than Barry wanted, he’d have to face off against the Rogue on some new mission, and he just…he couldn’t stomach that.

Which was why it surprised him that as soon as his head hit the pillow that night, he was out.

He fell asleep early and therefore awoke early, much earlier than usual, early enough that once he was showered and dressed and ready for the day, he didn’t really need to head to work for another hour.

“I need to check in at the station,” Joe said as he was already grabbing his coat to leave. “Yesterday was a bit hectic,” he tried to smile off, “but after I duck my head in to make sure there weren’t any disasters after I left, I was going to head to the labs again if you…wanted to join me before work?”

Barry faltered in front of the pot of coffee he’d been staring at and trying to remember how to make for the past five minutes. “Uh, I don’t…I don’t think I’m…up for that,” he said without turning. “I think I’ll just go to work, get a full honest day in for once,” he chuckled unconvincingly. He just couldn’t go to the labs and find Len gone again, or worse…watch him leave. “But let me know if anything’s…if anything happened and you need my help.” He really didn’t believe that would be the case, despite everything, but he turned around finally to offer Joe an earnest nod.

“All right, Barr, if you’re sure,” Joe said, and came over to grip his shoulder quick, an almost hug when a real one would have felt like too much just now. Joe always understood the amount of space Barry did or didn’t need.

“See you at work later,” Barry offered as Joe headed out. He turned back to stare at the coffee pot, unsure if he even wanted it anymore. He just needed to shake himself out of this funk, and stop thinking about Len for one blessed moment. 

He’d saved the man’s life—wasn’t that what The Flash was supposed to do? Not being able to save his soul wasn’t on Barry, but somehow it still felt like it was. He’d just wanted to believe for one minute that he could fall for someone who would fall just as hard for him. Didn’t he deserve that? His friends and family seemed to think so—Eddie couldn’t say it enough—but then why did Barry keep doing this to himself? 

Even now, when he just wanted to be angry, he felt nothing but anguish. Len had hurt him and said and done such terrible things; Len had turned away from him, dismissed him, made it clear that even if he was grateful for his life, he wouldn’t be sticking around. And yet Barry still thought back on their brief time together, staying up nights talking, and laughing, and slowly, honestly coming to understand each other…and wanted nothing more than to have that back, to hold Len against him, kiss his lips in something other than anger, hear his soothing voice, his gentle laugh, not the mockery from…yesterday.

Fuck, how had that only been yesterday?

Barry needed a distraction. He flipped on the radio to his and Joe’s favorite oldies station, and took a deep breath at the sink. It took him a moment to recognize the song that came on.

_I don't like you, but I love you_   
_Seems that I'm always thinkin' of you_   
_You treat me badly, I love you madly_   
_You've really got a hold on me_

Barry glared at the radio. Then couldn’t help smiling, and letting out a bitter, delirious laugh, because how did the universe always do that? Always know the exact right and wrong song to play when you least expected it? It was even Smokey…like he’d told Len he loved.

The tears were there in moments, unbidden but right on the brink. Barry tried to wipe them away before they fell, but it was all too close to the surface, painful and pulsing, and wound tightly straight through his chest. He shuddered out a breath as he couldn’t help but hum and then sing along to the song.

_Baby, I don't want you, but I need you_   
_Don't wanna kiss you, but I need to_   
_You do me wrong now, my love is strong now_   
_You've really got a hold on me_

He was the most pathetic man in the universe right then—to say nothing of being the fastest—because as much as he knew things could never be the way they’d been those first few days when Len was just…Len, Barry still wanted him in whatever way he could have him. 

“Barry?”

Barry whirled around at the sound of Iris’s voice from the entryway, his vocals instantly cutting off. He fumbled to shut off the radio and wipe the tears from his face, moving a little too much at flash-speed, and nearly sending the radio crashing to the floor in his haste. He probably looked like a mess anyway, scrubbing at his eyes, but he steeled himself to face Iris as he pushed from the sink and headed out of the kitchen.

Both Iris and Eddie were there, standing inside the door carrying coffee and pastries from Jitters for all of them. The sight was enough to banish most of Barry’s remaining wallowing as a true smile lit up his face. He really had better friends than he deserved.

“Guys, what are you doing here?”

Iris beamed brightly at him. “We figured you’d be up early and could use some company before work.”

“Or maybe that you didn’t sleep at all,” Eddie offered, smiling just as blindingly. “Caffeine works for a few minutes, right?” he laughed and held out a large cup.

Barry loved them both so much in that moment. He took the offered cup gratefully but said, “I actually slept fine. It’s the being awake part that’s…harder. Has Joe…” his eyes darted to Iris, “…I mean, how much do you…?”

Iris’s sympathetic expression turned playfully challenging toward Eddie. “Not as much as I wish I did. Despite my best badgering, Eddie won’t tell me anything, though because he’s awful at keeping secrets, I know he knows something I don’t. All he and Dad told me was about the Captain Cold rescue yesterday and that everyone is fine,” she said as she looked back at Barry, relieving Eddie from her stare-down. “The way you’ve been acting lately though, and how staunch Eddie was about not spilling any details…gives me a pretty good idea of the pieces I’m missing.”

“I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything,” Eddie jumped in, looking at Barry like he hoped he had done the right thing.

Barry couldn’t have been more grateful, because it just wouldn’t have been right for Iris to hear this from anyone but him, and he appreciated the restraint on Eddie’s part in keeping his confidence, even though he knew Eddie hated keeping secrets from Iris as much as he did. Barry had honestly felt better after confessing everything to Eddie yesterday. Maybe telling Iris would help quell the renewed surge of heartache he was feeling.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing back toward the kitchen, “it’s kind of a story we’ll want to be sitting for.” 

Somehow, while telling Iris everything he’d told Eddie, though in slightly different words, and with a few more details he’d left out in the gym yesterday, Barry managed to eat all three of the apple fritters they’d brought him. He hadn’t been eating enough lately, apparently, because he was starving. 

Iris only interjected when something needed to be clarified. Otherwise, she listened intently, patiently, looking the appropriate amounts of both pained and angry, which Eddie beside her mirrored almost perfectly.

But when Barry was done, Iris looked sad more than anything, while Eddie looked strangely hopeful.

“I don’t know, Barr,” Eddie said. “It sounds like a complete 180 from how he acted at the bank.”

“He was adamant about leaving, Eddie,” Barry countered. “He’s probably already long gone by now.” It made it hard to imagine ever going back to the labs, but Barry knew he couldn’t wallow forever. But if he actually had to stop another heist soon… “I can’t go back there just to see him walk away…again.”

“But he looked…regretful?” Iris prompted. “Like he wanted to apologize?”

“But he didn’t, didn’t even say anything, just…just wanted to leave.” Barry had finished his coffee as well, and clung to the empty cup, which reminded him a little too much of how he’d felt the other morning.

His phone chimed before anyone could comment further and he looked at it to see a message from Joe. His eyes widened in surprise, especially since the message was so aptly timed.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“He’s still there…” Barry said more to himself than in answer, then he flashed off a quick ‘thank you’ to Joe and looked up at his curious friends. “Joe just got to the labs and everyone’s still there for now. Mick, Lisa. Len’s still asleep.”

“He’s probably in worse shape than he thought to just go gallivanting out of there because he feels like running away,” Iris said. Her eyes twinkled with a bit of sinister mischief. “Maybe now would be a good time to corner him.”

“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.” Barry sunk into his chair, paling at the thought.

“I think I’m with Iris on this one, Barr,” Eddie said. “You need to find some time to talk with him alone, get everything off your chests so you know where you really stand. If you don’t, it’ll never feel over. If going your separate ways is how this ends, then you deserve the closure. If not, well…I mean…” He glanced at Iris as if for collaboration, but she looked unsure of where he was going with this, since she’d only just learned about the more intimate nature of Barry’s time with Len. In the end, Eddie turned back to Barry with a sort of helpless honesty. “What do you want, Barry? Really? What do you want from him?” 

Len’s voice chimed in Barry’s head. _“What did you expect from me, huh?”_

He willed the bitter memories away, clutching the coffee cup until it crumpled in his hands. He couldn’t look at either of them for a moment, because he couldn’t deny the truth and it…hurt. He wanted what he’d had, what he’d lost, what he and Len had only just started to discover before Len backtracked into denial so hard that it left scars between them. 

“This isn’t exactly a normal situation, Barry,” Iris’s soft, patient voice interjected on his thoughts, “so I won’t pretend like there’s an easy answer for how you should react, or what you should do. You shouldn’t go easy on him. But maybe you shouldn’t shut him out either.” 

“It has to be whatever feels right for you,” Eddie added. 

“And whatever that happens to be,” Iris chimed back in, “we promise we won’t judge, we’ll just listen and observe, and give our honest opinions when you want them. But if he hurts you again, in any way,” she whispered conspiratorially over the countertop, which finally prompted Barry to look up and catch her slight smirk, “the offer to beat him up will so be enacted without first asking permission.” She winked.

Barry couldn’t help but laugh, and Eddie chuckled along with him, though there was a spark of promise in Iris’s eyes. Len wouldn’t know what hit him if he actually pissed Iris off. 

“You guys are really good at this, you know,” Barry said, and it warmed him in a strange, unfamiliar way when they looked at each other and shared a loving glance before looking back at him with twin smiles.

“We’ve had some practice working through tough relationship hurdles,” Iris said seriously, and they all shared hesitant, genuine smiles, because really, their lives were too insane not to, even if there had been pain and confusion between them along the way. Right now, Barry was nothing but happy for them.

“Thanks, guys,” Barry said, tossing his crushed cup toward the wastebasket. “I should get going if I’m actually going to do this. I don’t know if I can afford to miss any more work though…”

“I’ll take care of that,” Eddie said. “If anyone asks, they just missed you, remember? And if that stops working, I guess you needed another sick day.” He grinned widely, so used to covering for Barry, and now that Iris was included in the mix, he didn’t seem nearly as put out by that. “It’ll be okay, Barry.”

Barry wasn’t so sure even after this thoughtful pep talk, and part of him longed for the distraction that work would provide. But the other part knew they were right. If he kept putting off honestly talking to Len, it would hang like some awful lead weight between them forever, and the last thing Barry wanted was to see Len again weeks from now, likely as he’d be stopping the other from committing some crime, when their last words were tense, unfinished business like some bickering…couple.

It made Barry feel nauseous, just like the thought of talking this through with Len made him feel nauseous. At least if Len still wanted to hurt him, he couldn’t do much laid up on that hospital bed. If he said anything too spiteful, Barry could walk away, just flash away and never look back. But some of him still hoped for the impossible, that maybe, somehow, the conversation could go differently this time. 

His stomach rumbled with nerves mixed with hope, as he got up to leave and the song he’d heard on the radio played through his head.

_You've really got a hold on me…_

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny, I was just going to bed last night after finishing the Cisco section, having told a friend who's been reading this that I was excited for Cisco and Caitlin to be the stars of this next chapter...and then I ended up rearranging things and moving Caitlin to the next chapter. :-) It just didn't seem right to go a whole chapter without checking in with Barry. Still a bit more to get through before they actually face each other again, and quite a bit to go after that before things, uh...move on. :-) But I hope you still enjoy! And thank you so much for sticking with this. Every comment is an extra oomph to get me writing more...meaning I'm super spoiled and can't think of anything but this fic lately! Ah!
> 
> Thanks so much!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len discovers he has more support than he expected, and Barry listens in on a conversation he never saw coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO NOT expect this sort of immediate update ever again. :-) This was pure happenstance that I got a chapter done during work Friday, and then had all of the Saturday evening to write the next one while my husband plays Pathfinder. And whoa, the 13% beer we've been drinking has started to affect my typing, but I'm fairly confident in my writing for the chapter. :-)
> 
> To all those with critiques so far, I hope I've addressed your concerns. 
> 
> Also, in less than 40 minutes it will be Sunday, July 12, which is the 7th anniversary for me and my husband (married, we've been together 9 years and friends for 12), and let me just tell you...wait to be the exception. I write first kiss, first time romance, and falling in love stories, because my own was so good, so beautiful, and continues to be everyday with one of the best men there could ever be, that I want to share that experience with others until the day I can no longer type. I'm not exaggerating, he's perfect to me. We don't fight. We talk, we compromise, we have a wonderful relationship and are so happy, and if everything in the rest of my life has to be difficult for me to have love be this wonderful, so be it, I'll take happiness with my husband every time. It is worth it to wait for that partner who will learn you're bisexual and say that the only problem he has with it is that he has more competition (which he so, so didn't), and who makes you happier to face each day. I write romance because of this man, so everyone take a moment to thank my husband, because it all comes from him, truly. 
> 
> Okay, no more drunken gushing. Enjoy this chapter and what is to follow!

This time Len slept soundly all the way until morning. He knew it was morning when he roused because Caitlin was there, checking his vitals. She offered a tight, unsure smile when he blinked up at her.

"Hey," she said, "I'm going to start waning you off the medication, okay, just a little less every few hours until the pain's more manageable. Then we can switch to something less invasive." Her fiddling with the IV had probably been what woke him.

He nodded, but couldn’t resist fingering the heart monitor that went up underneath his sweatshirt. "Can we do away with this?"

Caitlin cocked her head skeptically. "Well…you seem better enough that I don't expect you to suddenly crash, though I suppose it depends on whether or not you're planning on walking out the door in the next few hours."

Len held her gaze steadily. "I'm not."

"Good," she sighed, her smile shifting into something more genuine. "Then I guess your midnight rendezvous with Cisco wasn't all talk."

Len huffed an unsteady laugh. "He told you, huh?" He shifted on the bed. He could already tell he was going to get sick of it today since he was markedly better and more alert. The reduced pain meds probably helped with that, but thankfully didn't leave him with too much of an ache.

"He did, and well…he also sort of fostered a bad habit." Caitlin plucked a tablet—possibly the one Len often saw Cisco with—from off the nearby tray and turned it toward him. It was paused, unmoving, but showed footage of Len and Lisa in that very room from yesterday. Caitlin had watched their conversation.

Len supposed he’d walked into that. "One of these days I’ll remember those cameras when it counts," he said with a weak smile. But even though Caitlin returned the expression, Len couldn’t help thinking of the footage from outside the labs that Cisco had mentioned, and then of other footage—the way he'd saluted the camera in the lounge before he left, knowing full well what else that camera had captured.

At the time Len had wanted Barry to see it and remember what had happened between them that night, imagining it would leave a pretty potent sting, but now it dawned on him how much was out in the open for the others as well. 

"You all saw before, didn’t you?” he said softly, guiltily. “Barry and I…from that night?" 

Caitlin cringed and dropped the tablet back on the tray. She didn’t answer.

"I didn’t do it to hurt him." Len sat up as best he could in the bed then realized he'd have to clarify when Caitlin looked at him, puzzled. "I mean...I didn't sleep with him to hurt him. Afterward…the bank, the warehouse…that was to hurt him, but that’s not what I want anymore."

"I know," Caitlin said, and she looked sad more than accusing—but no, not sad, that wasn’t the right word. Sympathetic, maybe even for his sake. She placed a thin, gentle hand on his arm as if in silent support then started to remove the heart monitor as he'd requested.

Len took a moment to breathe and actually register the state of his body, the way it ached but was starting to feel at least somewhat normal. "Are Mick and Lisa…behaving?" he asked after a moment, wondering where the others might be since he couldn't hear anything but the whir of machines—no voices, and he couldn’t hide that that concerned him. "I want to stay, I’ll stay, but if they’ve been giving you any trouble…"

"They’re with Cisco and Ronnie downstairs in one of the other labs,” Caitlin assured him with a more confident smile.

“They are? Doing what?”

“Reprogramming their guns.” She chuckled a little when Len could do nothing more than gape at her in response. With simple precision, she adjusted the bed so that it propped him up better, more like he was lounging than lying down, then began to check him over for pulse, blood pressure, fever; never missing a beat, even as she continued to talk. “Ronnie worked here too, you know, though in Cisco’s words he’s currently meant more as a bodyguard against Mick. Cisco’s still wary of him, but apparently Mick is a little in awe of Ronnie.” 

Len chuckled with her. “Are you surprised? Your husband can ignite. I’m sure Mick’s beside himself.” 

She laughed a little harder before tapering off. “Cisco thinks they can adjust Lisa’s gun to be non-lethal like yours. Something about an oxygen bubble, so even someone fully covered could survive for a period of time if eventually released. He has some chemical compound he’s working on to break down the components of the gold. Mick’s gun can’t really be adjusted though. Fire’s a little too…well…” 

“Fire?” Len supplied. 

Caitlin nodded with another short laugh. “Exactly. I think Cisco’s hoping Lisa and Ronnie can help him convince Mick to turn a new leaf more than trying to make any changes to his gun. Get him to use it more the way he did when they were rescuing you. I get the impression he’s not so much interested in burning people, as burning…something. Anything. There could be opportunities for that without hurting people, if…that’s where things are headed.” She finished her checks, satisfied, and looked at him with a sort of gentle prodding. 

“Lisa sure seems to think so,” Len said. “She was the one telling me not to get too close, you know, not to get turned around and twisted by The Flash, because going straight wasn’t an option for someone like me. Now she’s the one fighting for it.” 

Caitlin smiled and placed a hand on his arm again, seated in a stool beside the bed. “Seems it’s something she wants for herself, but maybe she needed to see that you could do it in order to believe she could do it too.” 

The gentle comfort of comradery with Caitlin shifted into something strained for Len as he thought of everything he’d done, everything he owed them. “I haven’t done anything yet to make up for…” He tried to raise his arm, maybe to shake her off, maybe to reach for her more solidly, he wasn’t really sure, but as he did, his hand started to shake. He stared at it, so infuriated that he couldn’t seem to stop that from happening.

Caitlin shifted on the stool, her hands pulling away as she stood up and reached over the bed until she had both of Len’s wrists held tightly even though only the one had been shaking, and began that soothing motion with her thumbs along the pulse points at his wrists. 

He shivered at how instantly it made him feel better, and the trembles stilled. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to stop saying that now. He looked up from watching the motion of her hands to see her warm brown eyes looking down at him with open concern and maybe even…affection. “Why are you so kind to me?” he said before he could think of censoring the words. “You were the first one I hurt.” 

The admittance seemed to startle her, halting her movements, but when she recovered, she gripped his wrists more firmly. She stood there, leaning over the bed, not afraid or nervous. Cautious maybe, which was smart, and expected, but not like she feared him, or even like she loathed the man he’d been. 

“I know Cisco didn’t really…he didn’t really know if he believed you could change, even after we saw that footage of you outside the labs, having another panic attack. He really tried to believe in you while you were here, but the wounds of what happened before, with his brother, Barry’s identity, how much he blamed himself for it all…it didn’t make it easy to want to forgive you when you betrayed us a second time.”

“He said he did it for Barry’s sake,” Len recalled, amazed at the kid really, for being such a good friend that he’d pushed his own resentments aside to do what he thought was best for Barry even though it hurt, and probably didn’t sound all that supportive at the time. 

“Yeah,” Caitlin smiled. “My motivations were a little more selfish.” She released Len’s wrists finally, but when she reclaimed her seat on the stool, she laid a hand atop his. It was remarkably soothing, just to feel someone’s touch when he felt so disconnected. “I did believe in you, but maybe not because I felt I knew you well enough, but because…you made me think of Ronnie,” she smiled wistfully, with that sort of instant fondness that only rushed to the surface when someone was speaking of a person who made their breath catch every time they entered a room. 

Len didn’t have much experience with that, but he’d seen it, from time to time, the way someone could honestly love another person so much that they smiled and looked warmed and happier just thinking of that person, even years after they’d first been together. 

She came back to herself with a soft blush. “The split identity, the memory issues, the desire to run away before coming home and realizing what you really wanted…that is a very familiar story for me. Ronnie…hurt me without really meaning to, thinking he was protecting me, but even after I knew he was alive, I was ready to give up on him. I thought that if he walked away, wanted to walk away, then who was I to chase after him?” The strained memory of pain crossed her face, and her grip on Len’s hand tightened. “I didn’t fight hard enough. We figured things out with what had happened to him, and still, he thought he needed to be away from me. So I let him go. I just let him go…”

Len reached over with his left hand to in turn place atop hers, connecting them further, and looking up at her intently as he listened. 

She shuddered out a heavy sigh, her words sounding damp as she continued, but her eyes remained dry. “Ronnie…he realized his mistake and came back, recognized that we’re stronger together, happier together, and we are so happy now, but…sometimes…I have trouble forgiving myself for giving up. For letting him go.” Any brief semblance of cloudiness in her eyes cleared as she looked at Len. “I didn’t want to do the same with you. I was angry yesterday when you said you’d leave, but because I knew better, I knew you were just scared and thinking you needed to throw all this away to be safe, like maybe you deserved the pain, and the loss, and that’s just…it’s not fair, Len.” 

The machines weren’t quite loud enough anymore with the heart monitor turned off to drown out the way her breath caught, but she didn’t turn her eyes away from him.

“What you’ve been through is something few people experience. Forgetting your whole self, wanting to be something better before you remembered who you were, throwing yourself into danger and trauma to fight off the change that was coming…it’s more than most people could handle even if they did experience even a fraction of what you have in only a few days. But here you are…trying.” She smiled warmly at him. “And I, for one, want to believe it’s genuine, not a trick or something temporary that will go up in smoke when you’ve had more time to heal. You can be better, Len. I know you can, I’ve seen it. You are better.”

It really was so unfair that her eyes looked so clear when his felt like they were filling with moisture. It was the first time anyone seemed fully on his side in this, and prompted by selfish reasons or not, he knew looking at her, at the depth of belief in her eyes, that she meant every word, and not only because his situation stirred feelings of the man she loved. 

No response seemed apt enough, and ‘thank you’ would be too minimal for how he felt. So when he said, “I want to be,” it seemed weak and foolish, but it made Caitlin smile even brighter back at him. 

“Then let’s work on getting you physically better too,” she said, and patted their stack of hands before pulling away. “You should take another day of bed rest, but after today, as long as everything stays normal, no red flags, we can start on some physical therapy to work your leg. Trips to the bathroom will be more than enough for the next twenty-four hours, but there are some exercises you’ll be able to start doing that should help rebuild some of the tissue damage faster.”

The mood shifted to something lighter, easier to focus on than the heavy weight of trying to start his whole life over, as she stood and began explaining the plan she had in place for his recovery, which after he was able to leave the labs would still require regular physical therapy each day that she was more than happy to help with if he promised to take the time to come in.

It felt like someone else’s life for a moment. Having other people around who truly cared what he did with himself, what he wanted. Cisco, for all his anger and righteous fury, seemed mostly upset that Len had let him down. Caitlin was only angry when she thought the same, but held onto hope more tightly than the others because she knew too well what it was like to lose everything and somehow be given a second chance. 

It was when Lisa, Mick, Cisco, and Ronnie appeared from the lower labs they’d been working in that Len really felt how surreal all of this was, because the tension was gone somehow, relaxed, even between Mick and Cisco. They all chatted softly on their way to the lounge, as if they hadn’t expected Len would be awake yet. When they saw that he was, Lisa bounded over to him with a wide plastered smile, and kissed his cheek. 

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” he said honestly. “I hear you’ve been working on altering your gun.”

A teasing smirk slipped onto her face. “Among other things.” She peered over her shoulder at Cisco, and while Len couldn’t see it, he imagined she winked, because the kid immediately blushed. Facing Len and Mick like a bundle of fury was easy, apparently, but one flirtatious look from Lisa, and he was still putty in her hands. She turned back with a winning grin. “You just worry about getting better, Lenny. I got the rest.”

“What does that mean?” he asked with a furrowed brow, only half honestly concerned, but…a little concerned, because then she was skipping off to grab Cisco by the arm and leading him toward the lounge, and Mick offered him only a twitch of a smile—he rarely smiled widely—and a short nod, before turning back to some conversation with Ronnie that held him captive. 

Then they were all off, and it was only when Caitlin said something Len didn’t quite catch about joining them, that Len looked over and realized he wasn’t alone even with Caitlin’s departure. Detective West stood in the doorway the others had first come through, having been there all along, Len assumed, but waiting to have a crack at him alone. 

Shit.

XXXXX

Barry flashed to S.T.A.R. labs, but only so far as the main corridor. He needed a slower walk to where Len was staying so he could gather his thoughts a bit better first. He knew Joe had only been there for a few minutes, having first checked in with Cisco downstairs, but he assumed his father was upstairs now, and well…he thought it might be best if he intervened, since Len was likely awake now, and Joe probably wanted to kill Len if they’d been left alone. 

Of course Barry didn’t think the others would be foolish enough to leave Joe alone with Len…until he came upon the entrance to the main labs and, while he was stumbling in his step, unsure of how he’d start this conversation, he heard Len’s voice.

“Are you going to take me in, Detective? Or are you still working out how to dispose of the body afterward?”

Barry froze in place. How, as the fastest man alive, he was still almost always one step too late, had to be the biggest cosmic joke in the universe. 

“You should consider it your good luck this place is filled with cameras,” Joe answered, closer than Len sounded, like Barry had literally only just missed him walking fully into the other room. “But what could I take you in for, Snart? The video footage of you at the first 1st National shows you disappearing before anything happened. This last one, you left before the robbery took place. And all your other offenses…well those just up and disappeared, didn’t they? We have nothing on you.”

Barry cringed. That was always going to be a sore spot, wasn’t it? 

“And what about Mick and my sister?” Len asked. He sounded stronger at least, like maybe he was sitting up and not completely bed-ridden. 

“Seems they’re discussing that now,” Joe said. 

And Barry wondered what that meant. He hadn’t checked anywhere else for the others, but if they were all upstairs now, talking…what exactly did that entail?

“Can’t say I approve of what they’re deciding on in there,” Joe went on, “but someone recently tried to convince me that a good cop should want the bad guys to reform rather than just be punished.”

Barry grinned as he remembered Eddie’s initial words of support for Len, and him reforming into a better man. 

“And how do you feel about that, Detective?” 

“Jury’s still out at the moment.” 

Len laughed as if honestly amused by Joe’s pun. Barry just hoped Joe wouldn’t try anything violent while Len was still weak and defenseless. He was mostly defenseless, Barry knew that as fact this time from Caitlin, and Joe wouldn’t really murder Len in the labs, would he? But Barry didn’t know if he’d put anything past his father when his own well-being was under threat, although he wasn’t really under threat from Len anymore. He certainly hoped he wasn’t.

He wondered if he should reveal himself now and save Len from whatever agony Joe had planned, because it had to be some form of torture to face Joe after everything Len had put Barry through. Joe had been scary when Barry was a kid, dealing with bullies. He was always so quick to defend Barry, and while he encouraged a non-violent response, of course, that didn’t mean his sharp looks and no-nonsense tone wasn’t terrifying. 

So Barry snuck his way to the door and flattened himself to the wall just outside of it, listening in to debate whether or not he needed to intercede. He also sort of wanted to know what they’d talk about. It sounded like they were alone. 

“Tell me, Snart,” Joe said, and Barry imagined him right beside Len now, maybe even seated in the stool that was always nearby the hospital bed, “what are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Detective?” Len asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“You want to heal, I understand that. Then what? Your abduction resulted in a lot of collars for CCPD. I was also impressed that your…Rogues didn’t leave any bodies behind. They listened when Barry asked them to play things his way. Impressive, but not necessarily a sign of the future unless you plan to make it one.”

“I understand what you’re saying—”

“Do you?” Joe cut Len off sharply. “Because I don’t want to see my son hurt again. I’d prefer not to ever see him hurt, but I know that’s not an option. Not when this city needs The Flash. So what can I do but back him up where I’m useful, give advice when he’s willing to listen, and keep bad elements out of his life every chance I get.”

Oh shit. Barry needed to put a stop to this.

“Are you a bad element, Snart?” Joe asked, and the emotion in his voice made Barry pause before he could whip around the doorframe and enter the room. “Because I honestly don’t know. I’ve heard all sides on you. What I know about your past, your record, doesn’t make me very confident in your ability to reform. The one thing that did was how much Barry believed in you while you were here…when you promised me you would never hurt him on purpose.”

The silence that followed made Barry’s stomach plummet. He’d never learned what Joe and Len had talked about that day, though he’d had his suspicions. He felt a little guilty about eavesdropping now, but in the grand scheme of things, it paled in comparison to the other things that had occurred between them. So he listened on.

“I know,” Len said, a solemn, soft tone to his voice. “I promised you that as the man I was then. I didn’t think I wanted to be that man when I remembered.”

“You mean after you used him,” Joe said coldly, dangerously. “And left him?”

Barry felt like he wanted to throw up, just like he had the morning after, when Joe had had to watch that footage, and Barry had pleaded with him not to judge. 

But Len didn’t try to justify anything. He just said, “Yes. And no matter what happens between us now, I can never make up for that. Ever. And I know my promises probably count for less than a cup of coffee to you now, Detective, but I swear…for whatever little that’s worth, that as the whole me, every broken piece of me, I will try to make up for this for as long as he’ll let me.” 

Barry gasped, almost too audibly, and clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from alerting them to his presence. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. He’d never heard Len sound quite like this before, some crossed amalgamation of the sweet, tentative blank slate he’d been, and the cool confident Captain Cold he was. It was all Barry had expected of him when he’d hoped Len would want more for himself when he regained his memories, not for him to change, but for him to be all that he was, even though some of himself he’d buried. 

“You know, Detective,” Len said, “it’s actually a little funny how alike Barry and I are. Both raised by cops…with our sisters. I don’t know what you know about my father, but he wasn’t a good cop, not like you. Crooked, corrupt, however you want to say it. And he wasn’t a good man either. Not nice, or kind, or patient. He certainly didn’t have any patience or a gentle hand for me and Lisa. Barry had you. I didn’t.”

Barry had never thought of it that way before, but now that he knew more about Len’s childhood, he recognized what a twisted parallel there was between them, what events could shape a man into who he’d one day become and embrace. 

“Nature versus nurture?” Joe scoffed. “Don’t sell me that bullshit, Snart. It’s not all or nothing. You can’t blame nurture for your nature being too weak to make the right call.” 

That wasn’t fair, chimed in Barry’s head, so quick to defend Len when he realized Joe was going on the offensive. He pressed a palm flat to the wall.

“You want to say it made things harder, how you were raised?” Joe said. “That your choices were limited? Fine…but that’s never an excuse to hurt people. You have a chance now to be something better. You throw that away, that’s on no one but you.” 

Barry heard the soft screech of metal against the floor, and knew his guess about Joe having sat in the stool was accurate, but now he was standing, probably hovering over Len threateningly, and Barry wasn’t sure what he should do. 

Then Joe’s words surprised him again. “You make this up to him, Snart. That’s how you keep me from finding a way, any way, to haul your ass in. Because that boy cares for you despite all this, despite everything you did, and he deserves to know that matters this time, that you’re not going to turn around and pretend like it doesn’t. Now I’m not saying I…approve of what happened between you two. I don’t. But the only way you’re ever making this up to him is if you prove him right that you’re a better person than you’ve been.” His voice cracked, just slight enough for Barry to hear it, to hear the emotion in Joe’s plea. He took a shaky breath and finished, “So you better get on that.” 

It made Barry’s face feel hot with ready tears when Len answered, “So I’ve been told, Detective, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

The warm buzz of possibility held Barry captive, because he’d run this gambit so many different ways so far, and it was exhausting to want something he was never quite sure he could have. He’d learned to like someone he’d been set against, angry with, so angry in the beginning that he hadn’t even listened when Len tried to warn him of the impending doom of a falling walkway. He’d learned to care for him, and laugh with him, so easily, the easiest fresh friendship Barry had ever known, because Len had been so attentive and sincere. 

He’d learned to want the man so much more than simply finding a handsome enemy attractive, but desirable too, shifting in his perspective of the way Len gave that quick eye-glance down his body, like he wanted every inch of him, from finding it infuriating to actually enjoying it. 

He’d given over to passions he’d only imagined, felt another’s touch with his speed thrumming through him for the first time, not handicapped by it, but spurred on. And it had been the most intense intimate encounter of Barry’s life, not only because the sex itself had been hot, but because he’d felt so connected and happy in the afterglow. 

And then, after all of that, he’d had to flip all of his perspectives back to the way he’d felt at the beginning, that this man, this enemy of his was just cruel, and had used him and betrayed him in the worst, most depraved way. 

If it was just denial, just fear and confusion on Len’s part, could Barry forgive him that? Forgive him the agony he’d caused taking all of the bliss he’d felt and freezing it like he’d shot their time together and frozen it in a block of ice? Barry wanted to forgive him, if only because he wanted the chance to get some of that back.

He was so caught up in his own reminiscing and considerations for how their conversation would go, he didn’t hear the next few words Len and Joe exchanged, but it didn’t matter. He’d stalled long enough. 

Taking in a deep, calming breath, Barry rolled to lean back against the wall a moment, then pushed away from it, walking around the corner to enter the labs and face this next challenge head on.

TBC...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Barry and Len talk. And then proceed to work on relationship goals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it, Barry! Damn it, Len! Neither of you followed the plan...

Barry entered as casually as he could, so it wouldn’t be obvious that he had actually been standing around the corner all this time, and Joe and Len immediately turned to him, their conversation halted. They’d said everything that needed to be said, as far as Barry was concerned, and Len deserved the rescue.

Joe offered him a strained smile, his brows tight with surprise. “I thought you weren’t up for coming to the labs this morning, Barry."

Barry fought to keep from glancing too obviously at Len, but the heat of the other man’s eyes on him was intense. “A couple birdies on my shoulder changed my mind. Can we have some time alone?”

The tension in Joe’s shoulders didn’t waver, remaining bundled, cautious, but he nodded anyway and passed a final hard glance at Len before heading away from the hospital bed toward Barry. He patted Barry’s shoulder twice before he moved on. “I think I’ll check in on the conversation happening in the lounge,” he said, and swiftly departed.

Barry followed Joe with his eyes if only to buy himself a few more seconds, then turned to Len and felt a rush of anxious spikes shoot up his arms and the sides of his neck. Meeting those cool blue eyes was so different now. Len didn’t look at him in challenge, but the disarming sweetness wasn’t quite there either. He looked resolved, collected. It was unnerving and difficult to read.

As Barry approached the hospital bed, he caught sight of more of Len's face, having initially been able to see only his right side fully, but now he saw the left as well and the darkly colored bruising along his jawline. The angry shades of purple and green and pink made Barry cringe. 

Len instinctually reached a hand to it upon noticing Barry’s stare. He hissed when he made contact, and pulled his hand away again, causing Barry to avert his eyes in shame over being the cause of it. But drifting his eyes down Len’s body led him to the withered leg.

“I told you it was a bad neighborhood,” Len said with a forced lightness to his tone, more a joke than accusation, but it came out flat, and he frowned when Barry looked up again to meet his eyes. “No one’s fault but mine, Barry.” 

“I think that part was all me,” Barry said, gesturing toward the impact his speeding punch had caused.

“I deserved it.”

“Not at that speed.” Barry sighed. It was different fighting metas, but Len was just a man. A dangerous, highly intelligent man with a high tech cold gun invented by possibly one of the smartest men on the planet, but still—a normal human. “The punch in general, though…yeah, you deserved that.” Barry quirked his lips a little to show he didn’t mean that with complete animosity. This whole situation felt tense enough.

Len smiled, and there, for a moment, was the man Barry had met that first day when he brought an unconscious Captain Cold to S.T.A.R. Labs, someone who didn’t want to be any trouble, or play the part of the villain, or hurt Barry in any way. Barry had known that man was a part of Len somewhere.

“I was happy to hear you were able to keep Mick and Lisa in check going after those kids,” Len said when the silence began to stretch thick around them. "The leader, Chalo, he could be dangerous, but the others didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Barry said, debating if he should take the stool behind him but unsure whether or not he could stay still if he sat down. He had trouble staying still in most positions. “I told them I’d bring you all in to the police if they crossed the line. Of course I was sort of a bad example after that kid froze you." He rubbed his neck nervously—shit, he always did that. He pulled his hand down again and eyed the purple along Len's jaw to ground himself. "I almost took his head off. He’s probably sporting a matching bruise to yours.”

“Really?" Len looked a little amazed, maybe even flattered. Then his expression shifted to something closer to his Cold persona as he smirked. "He’ll turn it to his advantage, I’m sure. Took a punch from The Flash and lived to tell about it, after getting one over on Captain Cold and icing him with his own gun. He’ll give his cellmates chills with that story."

Barry almost laughed, but managed to control his reaction into a reluctant smile and eye-roll instead. This part of Captain Cold he had never minded, the theatrical showman who just wanted to have a good time with his craft. It was the rest that ruined it, that made Barry’s blood curdle when innocent people, or the lives of even the worst of men were at risk, and Len just laughed it off and kept the game going. 

Any semblance of the smile Barry had been sharing with Len fell away, as he thought of all of the reasons he’d hated this man before—before either 1st National, when Barry had seen Cold hurt and kill people, put innocents at risk, sneer and scoff and so easily betray him, and even threaten people Barry cares about. 

_“I'm a criminal and a liar and I hurt people and I rob them.”_

“So tell me, Barry,” Len said, his own smile dwindling as he recaptured Barry’s attention, “how long were you listening in before you decided to enter the room?”

Crap. So much for playing it cool. And urg, did Barry really just think that? Yet somehow, even though Len looked like he was waiting for the proverbial axe to drop, the question helped the lingering tension shrug out of Barry's shoulders. It broke the ice a bit better anyway, and damn it, Barry had to try adamantly not to smirk. 

“Of course you knew,” he said.

“Well, deception tends to come easily for me," Len smiled sourly. He shifted uncomfortably in the small bed, drawing Barry’s attention to his body.

He looked so frail lying there, even if all that was connected to him now was one IV for pain meds. But his paler complexion, the awful bruising, the S.T.A.R. Labs sweats with one leg rolled up to keep the worst of his wounds on view for all to see, and even his bare feet filled Barry with the unquenchable desire to help and heal. He hadn’t thought about socks yesterday when he pulled the wet ones from Len’s feet.

“You heard everything, so tell me…what more can I do?” Len asked.

Barry looked back into his eyes and swallowed the lump rising in his throat when he saw the grief there, raw and unmasked.

“I’m honestly asking, Barry. What do you need from me?”

That was all Barry had been asking himself since he first flashed to the labs—what would it take to get past this? To forgive Len? He hated that even thinking about it meant he had to recall what had crushed him the most before today. 

Being used. Being left. The note. Seeing that damn smug salute on the camera footage. Then seeing Len in person and having him pick apart every good thing Barry had thought might exist between them, equating it to nothing more than a cruel game…a game that reminded him too closely of what he’d gone through with Wells. Made to suffer because it was fun, and he was nothing but a fool who was only too easy to manipulate.

"There's only one thing I need to know, and it's the same thing I asked you in the warehouse," Barry said evenly, meeting Len's gaze head on, his arms at his sides and his body still. "Why?"

Len looked startled. "Barry…it wasn’t a trick—"

"I know. So why? Why break me down like that? Why do the worst possible things, say the worst…possible things?" He kept his voice from cracking but couldn't prevent the flood of moisture from filling his eyes. He blinked the all too ready tears back.

Len shifted again and his right hand twitched at his side, but he kept it on the bed. "For the exact reason you said, kid—to break you. Because if you were broken, then it must have been an illusion, just a temporary…setback…that I could put behind me as nothing more than a fool's dream."

A tear slipped down Barry’s cheek, but he didn’t care, not when it looked like Len’s eyes were growing damp too. “Was that all it was?” he asked.

Len took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he wouldn’t look at Barry. “Even before I had the name, I was Cold a lot longer than I was Len. Most my life, kid. You make it easy to remember when I was younger and wanted to be something more than my father. And you make it difficult to believe it’s too late to find some of that again. But I…” Len wiped at his eyes, actually wiped at his eyes, and Barry was brought back to how many times he’d seen the man in tears when he was still scared, and desperate, and trying to find himself when he didn’t remember who he was. 

Barry wanted to reach for him, but he thought if he did, the whole picture would shatter.

“I’m going to screw this up…” Len said, staring down at his wounded leg, arms crossed tightly over his chest now like armor. “Someday…I will. It’s an addiction I don’t know if you can fix by pointing me at criminals and meta humans, Barry. You’ve never been anyone other than a good man trying to do the right thing, you don’t…know…”

He took a deep, shuddery breath and looked at Barry, and the sudden connection, seeing Len’s icy blue eyes pooling with tears tore into Barry as much as the man’s cruel words ever had. 

“I don’t have a lot faith in myself, kid. I told you that before. But I want to try. Because I liked that other me, even though it scared me like I can’t even remember last feeling. 

“So why did I take it so far in the warehouse, say and do the worst things I could imagine? Because even fully myself again, I couldn’t believe in a future where I was anything other than the villain. And at least I couldn’t be let down by that if I purged the idea from my mind, purged you… But I...I couldn’t do it. 

“You were turning away, walking away from me, and I just wanted to pull you back. Instead you were gone, and I…collapsed to the floor.” He pulled on the most miserable, heart-wrenching smile, and a few tears streaked down his face more liberal than Barry’s. “But then it is always a tough trick to keep up with you, Scarlet.”

Barry surged forward before he could stop himself. He took Len’s face in his hands, and more tears streamed down his cheeks as he leaned closer. He was gentle with the hand so near to Len’s bruises, but he had never felt a more overwhelming urge to kiss someone in his entire life. He’d bared his soul to others before, but he’d never had someone bare theirs back to him. 

He pressed his lips to Len’s firm but chaste, just wanting to feel the other’s mouth against his, however damp with tears and surprised into inaction. He knew kissing Len now was the wrong call, knew it wasn’t the right moment, but god, he just wanted to pull the man against him, hold him like he had those nights in the labs after a nightmare, and tell him that everything would be okay.

Only as Barry pulled away did Len reach for him in kind, head tilting up as if to follow him, but then settling back when the moment ended. 

Barry pulled up with a huffed half laugh, half sigh, his hands sliding from Len’s face to his neck and shoulders, their eyes both swimming as they stared at each other. “I…I didn’t mean to do that,” Barry said, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to do it again.

Len looked like he was about to implode into a million tiny pieces, so Barry reached back up to his face again, this time the unmarred right side only, and pulled Len toward him as he once again leaned down.

"Barry." Len grabbed his wrist, resisted being lifted, being kissed a second time. When their eyes met, wet and wanting, there was indecision in his gaze. He gestured with his chin beyond Barry's back.

Right. The others. Barry looked, and at least they hadn't actually been walked in on, but it still wasn't the time or place for this, he just hadn't been able to stop himself.

He looked back at Len and smiled before pulling away and wiping the tears from his face. "Sorry. I guess...you said everything I needed to hear. I just wish you hadn't gotten so hurt before that happened."

"Me too," Len said, his eyes already looking clearer as he rubbed his own tears away. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" he halfway grimaced.

"Captain Cold crying?" Barry laughed, relieved to have the tension broken. "Nope. Sorry. Now there's proof you're human and not nearly as _frigid_ as people think." Really, Barry couldn't help himself.

Len chuckled with him and shook his head, but there was sorrow hiding in the corners of his expression that Barry wished he could banish, wished he understood. "Listen, kid...there are things about these past few days that I regret, some that I don't..." the distress won out as his expression fractured, "and some things…that are just a bad idea."

The floor dropped out from under Barry before he could catch himself. "Which...which things are which?" he asked reluctantly.

Len sighed.

And all the tension surged up again, leaving Barry feeling sick. He shouldn't have assumed; what was wrong with him? This was about so much more than some brief romance. Len was trying to become a whole new person. Barry had no reason to believe that their night together had been anything but needed comfort, the angry kiss when they fought just a fresh way to wound him, and everything else far simpler than... Than what? He didn’t want to think it.

But this he’d been through before, so he pulled on a smile with the ease he’d had so much practice with, with Iris. Len’s sad, sympathetic look was an awful reflection of what Barry had seen too often from his best friend, but he could handle it again. He could. It had only been a few days. Just a few days. If Len didn’t want him that way, it was, well…that was okay, wasn’t it? Barry couldn’t force him to love him. 

Fuck—why’d he have to go and think it? He was being selfish. Just because they could be friends, didn’t mean there was anything else there to flourish. He’d just wanted…and…and he thought…

“Barry.” Len reached for him, close enough to grab him by the elbow—he hadn’t even realized he had started to pull away. “Stop, please, I’m…I’m saying all the wrong things again, I just mean…it’s not a good idea _now_. It isn’t that I didn’t…that I don’t _want_ …” He sighed again, but his face was three shades of conflicted and fumbling, and Barry knew exactly how that felt.

He took a breath of his own, tried to clear his head and calm his thoughts. He was getting ahead of himself again. He was just so used to that feeling of rejection. 

"I’m sorry," Barry said, reaching up to take Len’s hand and dropping it down between them as he held it.

“Don't be. I hate that expression,” Len said, looking up at him with fondness despite a slight grimace. “You threw it at me almost 24/7 when I stayed here before, like you were always sorry, always misstepping and thought you owed me.”

“Oh really? And here I thought that was the expression you kept throwing at me,” Barry said with a light chuckle. He relaxed a bit as he rubbed a thumb across Len’s knuckles. 

“I guess we’re both hopeless then,” Len said.

“No,” Barry shook his head, “how about hopeful…and we can see where that takes us?”

Len nodded, seemingly satisfied with that, and while Barry really wanted to kiss him again and sink back into the wonderful possibilities that had fluttered in his chest, and how good things had been and could be again, he knew Len was right to hold him back. There was still so much to rebuild and get through before real trust was earned. But what could Barry say; he’d never been a patient man. 

Finally, he felt like he could take the stool, and as he sat, he let Len reclaim his hand rather than hold onto it. “So what are you going to do now?” Barry asked. He’d been a little afraid to ask, but felt more confident now in how Len would respond. 

“Work with Cisco and Caitlin to make sure this isn’t permanent,” Len gestured at his leg, “find out whatever they’re planning against us in that room over there,” he nodded to the lounge, “and eventually…go home, once I’m given a clean bill of health.” 

“Oh.” Of course Barry knew Len staying here wouldn’t be permanent even now that he was planning to stay a few days longer to recover, but it still left him with a twinge of loss to imagine Len leaving, like it would be only too easy to fade back to how things had been before if they were separated.

“But maybe…” 

“Maybe?” Barry hadn’t realized he’d looked down like some dejected child until he looked up again and caught Len’s hopeful— _hopeful_ —smile. 

“Maybe we can help each other out, kid. A lot more of my enemies are going to feel all high and mighty having seen me beaten, figure they can try and take me out if it was so easy for a bunch of kids. I’ll have a lot of heat headed my way. Could be a good excuse for you to put away a few more bad guys. The non-meta variety to start, but I’m sure that’ll change over time.” 

Barry sat up straighter. “You mean…you want to work together?” 

“Probationary of course.” Len held up a hand. “I’m sure you’ll want to keep a close eye on me. I’ll have to talk to the others about this though. It’s not really the way we’re…built. You may need to reprogram more than our guns, I mean, and expect quite a bit of straying from the rules. But if Mick and Lisa are against it…”

“Actually…” came a voice from the other end of the room, “that’s exactly what we were thinking.” 

Barry turned to see Lisa at the forefront as she and the others entered from the lounge. Even Joe stood off to the side, looking vaguely troubled but unwilling to interrupt. 

“Lisa…what are you up to?” Len asked with a familiar tone of suspicion. 

Lisa grinned and planted a hand on her hip. “Working on sweetening the deal, Lenny. Of course we could stand to add a few clauses where—”

“We are not giving you free reign to commit heists even if they are targets we don’t like,” Cisco grumbled, though he looked more entertained than upset by this and, as always, captivated by the female Snart sibling. 

“Well,” Lisa shrugged, while Mick huffed and rolled his eyes, Ronnie and Caitlin shared an amused look, and Joe eyed them all like he really couldn’t believe this was happening, “we’re still working out the kinks, obviously, but overall…I think we have the makings of a beautiful friendship.”

XXXXX

Three weeks later, they had all but handed every non-meta threat to Len’s life over to Detective West and Thawne wrapped up in a big bow. Everyone who’d only just missed their chance to storm the warehouse Len had been held captive in, but that hadn’t been caught during CCPD’s initial raid, if they’d made a single move to go after Len in the passing weeks, had been stopped, caught, and incarcerated. 

Which left only one remaining problem—Mendoza Senior, who as it turned out, was not pleased to be rid of his eldest son, despite the man’s incompetence with running the business. Len apologizing for shooting Mendoza Junior in the head, and expressing that he’d had a change of heart since then about shooting first and asking questions later, probably wouldn’t do much to slow the shootout currently happening around him.

Of course Len had expressed as plainly as he could to Barry that he couldn’t promise he would never kill again. If someone had sights on Lisa, or Mick, or…and Len didn’t actually say this part out loud…any of Team Flash, Barry especially, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going all out to protect them. 

“We don’t all have the benefit of super speed to get out of a jam when an enemy's about to shoot someone we love,” he’d said, and hoped Barry didn’t immediately realize he meant him and that laser shooting asshole Len had shot to protect Barry back during the Ferris Air mission. 

Barry had frowned and crossed his arms, staring Len down, but when Len didn’t budge, he’d sighed and said, “Fine. I guess I’ll take what I can get. But I’m still asking you to try.”

Which Len thought he had done a valiant job of over the past few weeks. He’d spent nearly all of the first week laid up in S.T.A.R. Labs before Caitlin gave him the okay to return home, which was not to the last safe house but to one of Len’s nicer apartments, because he deserved a little comfort for a while, even if it was a little too high profile to remain as under the radar as some of his more hidden hideouts. But then being bait was part of the plan. And oh how many wayward villains came calling, assuming Captain Cold was defenseless. 

Not only was The Flash a quick call and a few seconds away at all times, but Lisa and Mick took shifts being with him while he was still somewhat hobbled. Not killing anyone was always a chore, but they managed, and cleaned house one inept baddie at a time. 

Once there wasn’t even any fight, because Ronnie, Professor Stein, and Caitlin had all stopped over—it still unnerved Len somewhat for Team Flash to know all of his safe houses, but he figured he could give up the locations to a few until the feeling of unease subsided—hoping to discuss with Mick ways he and Firestorm could work together, perhaps a way to redirect Mick’s fire if it got out of hand, for example.

Mick was more than eager to set up times to go to S.T.A.R. Labs and practice such scenarios where things could be more safely contained…when they’d been interrupted by some rather pathetic looking criminals trying to break in, only to encounter Heat Wave and a pair of men that when they became one could literally set themselves on fire. The would-be hitmen had dropped their guns and surrendered immediately. 

Len went to S.T.A.R. Labs daily for physical therapy with Caitlin. She seemed impressed with how quickly he bounced back, and by the end of week two, declared him fit to walk on his own with only a slightly annoying limp. By the end of week three, the limp was hardly noticeable, and the bruising along his jaw had left only a few tiny speckles of nearly healed yellow. 

Which was when Len had insisted that he help take Mendoza down. The man had sent men after him, but never came himself, and finally called Len out personally after another failed attempt to kill him asking that they meet and discuss a truce. 

Len knew it was a trap. No one still free on the streets was aware that the Rogues were in cahoots with The Flash and Firestorm, but even if Mendoza assumed they were still amiable to nefarious business practices, there was no way he'd had a change of heart. 

So when Len told Barry that he had every intention of meeting Mendoza’s challenge and taking the guy down, everyone had agreed on a plan to make sure the night ended in arrests rather than bloodshed. 

Helping plan ways to guard his apartment and take down the crooks that were after him? That was easy. Len also happily detailed for Cisco hot spots around the city Barry could patrol. Physical therapy with Caitlin was actually quite pleasant, and often included trauma counseling that she seemed to think she was slipping in unbeknownst to him. He didn't mind. It helped more than he'd say. Even Mick and Lisa seemed...happier, rarely tempted by their personal vices as of late. 

What didn't come easily was how to act around Barry. Len hadn't wanted to pull away when Barry tried to kiss him a second time that day. The first kiss had been so sweet, such a welcome press of lips. Len had wanted nothing more than to give in and accept what Barry offered, but he knew he hadn't earned that yet.

The problem was...he still didn't think he had, and wasn't sure if he ever would. Barry was waiting on him, but Len never did more than risk one of his coveted glances down Barry's body, the way the kid moved, the power pulsing beneath his skin. 

Barry would flirt so subtly, testing the waters, trying to get close to Len any time they were near each other, but every time, Len held back. Things were good. Things were moving in the right direction. He didn't want to ruin that. Even Detective West offered him begrudging nods of approval when they crossed paths. Barry deserved so much better than what Len could offer. Though those downturned eyebrows would be the death of him with the way they turned to him in longing.

Something near to an explosion struck the pillar Len dove behind, and he forced himself to focus on the present, and how finally something felt familiar in a good way, like all the things he loved about his old life. 

It was so freeing being back in his parka and goggles, the cold gun at his side. He had worried he’d start to shake or feel his stomach flip to work with the gun again, and had made a point to practice with it each day like its own type of physical therapy. With his head wound long healed and the stitches dissolved, the goggles were no problem, the parka a comfortable fit, and it seemed that as long as he had more direction with where and who he trained his cold gun on, using it filled him with the same thrill he’d loved since he first stole the weapon from Cisco. 

The call had been to meet at one of Mendoza's other gun trafficking locations, a building even larger than the one Mick had torched, and in a much seedier part of town, with only empty warehouses surrounding it. But Mendoza hadn’t anticipated the extra muscle Len brought along—Captain Cold, Golden Glider, and Heat Wave were enough, but with The Flash and Firestorm accompanying them they were a true force. 

Unfortunately, Len and the others hadn’t anticipated just how many men Mendoza would bring either, or that they would all be sporting makeshift copies of Len's gun. 

Oh, they were nothing like what Cisco had built. Several of them froze over on the first attempt at use. But the ones that worked shot out liquid nitrogen like some awful parody to teach Len a lesson for having frozen Mendoza Junior’s leg before he killed him. 

Len almost lamented that Cisco had insisted on coms for all of them, because several voices were shouting in his ear to steer clear of the streams of liquid nitrogen. Len almost growled back, ya think? It was a far cry different from what his own cold gun fired, and a lot more permanent. It made him snarl with rage that Mendoza had thought to mock him this way. 

It eased Len’s temper, however, every time he heard Barry’s voice telling him to just ‘stay cool’, especially since the first time he’d said it, he groaned afterwards, clearly having walked into the pun unintentionally. Len was starting to notice that Barry did that a lot, though it was much more adorable when he did it on purpose. 

Len shook his head, fighting to keep his thoughts clear. The metal pillar he’d ducked behind likely couldn’t take too many more shots from those nitrogen guns before it would crumble and seriously start to affect the integrity of the building’s support system. Len had a general idea of where the others were from the coms, but there were too many voices, too much going on, and still too many opponents to face easily. 

“Barry, you cannot get hit with those guns,” Caitlin said clearly in Len’s ear. “None of you can. That isn’t something we can reverse.”

“I get that,” Barry said, “but we can’t keep dodging. There are too many of them for me to flash through and disarm without someone getting in a lucky shot. I need them distracted.”

“We should just fry them,” Mick muttered. “Firestorm and I could have these jokers toast in minutes.”

“Think bigger, Mick,” Ronnie chimed in. “We have to concentrate on using the heat to deflect any lucky shots that get through.” At least the guy was mostly calm and collected to counter Mick…so not being that way. Ronnie was even more focused with Professor Stein in his head, who Mick also listened to whenever he was around physically despite always referring to him as ‘Mr. Rory’. 

“Yeah, well I’m gonna continue making as many arms all bright and shiny as I can while you idiots figure something out,” Lisa called, and the sound of her gold gun whirred in the background as her latest victim shrieked loud enough to be heard over more than just their coms. 

Len held his cold gun close, his hood padding his head as he leaned back against the pillar, his gloves allowing only the right amount of chill to shoot up his arms, and his sight through the goggles a beautiful shade of blue. “Everyone focus on the center portion of the room,” he said calmly, softer than most of them, because he didn’t need any nearby thugs overhearing him. “They’re all facing outward looking for where each of us is hiding, so we need to get them facing inward instead to keep them distracted enough for each of us to take out who we can while Flash disarms the rest.”

“How are you going to get them facing inward?” Barry demanded impatiently.

Len grinned to himself. “Just be ready to get me out of harm’s way, Scarlet.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mendoza! Are we going to dance all night,” Len called as he readied himself and whirled around the side of the pillar he’d been hiding behind, “or are you starting to get cold feet?”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But I guess I can't complain too much, because I'm still ending up where I intended to go, but I had a very large note of NO KISS HAPPENS YET, and then Len was crying and Barry just...just kissed him and I couldn't stop the fool! And Len was actually supposed to be a little more distant at the end but he realized he'd be completely crapping on all his promises if he broke Barry's heart right then. Of course, three weeks gone now...he's doubting whether he can allow things to ever get back to the intimacy they once had, and well...that's going to take a little more prodding for some things that I am really excited for as we near the final chapters in this story. :-)
> 
> Thanks so much!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len's plan doesn't quite go as he expects, while both he and Barry pine for what they don't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, why am I not in bed...
> 
> What happens at the start is all for you, coldflashtrash. Our evil convo on tumblr totally inspired it. Muwahahaha!

Len fired at the first man in his way as he cleared the pillar, effectively freezing both of his arms—and gun—into a single mass of ice. As the hired gun cried out, Len grabbed him by the front of his jacket and spun the man around, using him as a human shield and continuing out into the center of the room. 

Several of the other remaining men armed with nitrogen guns turned at his entrance, thankfully hesitating when they saw one of their own, but not all of them looked; a few still glanced off into the corners of the building looking for the rest of Team ColdFlash.

And no, Len did not think Cisco’s joking title for the group was at all funny.

“What are you doing, this is crazy?!” Barry’s voice cried in his ear.

“Lenny!” Lisa joined in.

“Nobody goes until they’re all looking, or we miss our chance,” Len hissed as quietly as he could. He ignored any additional protests as he strode forward. 

Mendoza had a nitrogen gun of his own, but had refrained from using it so far after seeing a few of the guns backfire and effectively make it so that his men wouldn’t have hands by the end of the night. He glared at Len from the very center of the room, behind several closer guards, looking so much like his son, well-dressed and smug, only with an extra twenty years on him and a far more confident sneer.

Len needed to get the rest of the men looking his way, or this wouldn’t work.

Mendoza seemed ready to tell his men to fire despite the flailing goon Len had tucked close to him as a shield, but the crime boss couldn’t risk alienating his men any further when so many of them had already been taken down. “You’re outnumbered,” he said instead.

“I think that depends on your perspective,” Len shot back then whispered into his com, “Get ready, Flash.”

“Sir!” the man Len was holding shouted, apparently still focused and loyal enough to try and give a warning cry. Shit. 

Len couldn’t risk someone opening fire before he was ready, but now he had to act before fully reaching the position he’d been aiming for. To compensate, he threw the man forward, at the same moment swinging his gun around to fire a blast of ice at the floor beneath the man’s feet, sending him careening forward right into Mendoza and his closest men like a magnificent strike down a bowling alley. 

Anyone who initially thought to fire at Len hesitated as the man flew across the floor and knocked into his target with a hard topple and crash, causing everyone searching off into the wings to look center. And then shift their eyes back to Len as he broke into a run.

“Flash—” he started to call out, hoping Barry would understand that that had definitely been the signal to whisk him away, but as he saw a blur of red and yellow streaking toward him, focused on his current trajectory, Len’s bad leg buckled beneath him and he fell.

The blur passed him as several shots from the nitrogen guns soared overhead. His leg stung as he struck the ground hard on his side, and while he watched in seeming slow motion as man after man was attacked from behind by gold and melting heat on their guns, enough remained to train their guns on him again and fire once more just as the blur returned.

"No!" Len called out, because he knew Barry was too focused on him to care about his own safety, and why hadn't Len thought about that before he dashed into danger? The idiot always thought of others first, and Len had been the one to tell him to come to his rescue.

In the next moment Len was back behind another pillar, and Barry was rolling off to the side away from him, gasping and hissing in pain. Len ignored his own stinging leg as he tossed his cold gun aside and scrambled over to Barry, forcing the kid onto his back. Barry hissed again and arched up off the floor, and all Len could think about was how he'd never forgive himself if Barry had a wound that wouldn't heal.

One of the nitrogen guns had grazed him across the front of his suit, turning it a cold grey that crumbled into pieces of ruined fabric as Len tore at it with his gloved hands to get it away from Barry's skin. Once he had hold of it by the unfrozen sides, he ripped it apart, destroying the zipper of the suit down to the belt and nearly up to Barry's neck. 

The skin beneath looked red as if slightly frost bitten...but not frozen. The suit had protected him.

Len shuddered in relief, his hands splaying across Barry's stomach in gentle reverence. It was all too close to home, and the anger he’d felt toward Mendoza paled in comparison to the spike of panic that had shot through him when he heard Barry’s gasps of pain. His hands started to shake as they rested over the unmarred skin. 

“Len…I’m okay,” Barry said, his gloved hands coming to rest over Len’s own. Barry’s hazel eyes looked somehow surprised, flustered, and adoring all at once through the mask when Len looked at him. “It just stung a little. Really, I’m fine.” He smiled sweetly before narrowing his eyes in exasperation. “Are you going to listen to me next time?”

Beneath the subtle weight of Barry’s hands, Len’s trembles ceased, his confident resolve renewed in the face of Barry—unhurt and teasing him. “No promises, Scarlet. That plan would have worked fine if it wasn’t for this damn leg.”

Barry huffed. “And we both know whose fault that is.” 

The look they shared was warm despite the chill from the fading nitrogen between them, maybe even a little heated with Len’s hands pressed to Barry’s taut abs, hovering over the kid as he was, the hood of his parka dropped back, and their faces closer than they’d been in so long. 

Barry’s breath slowed, his hands squeezing Len’s tightly as the moment shifted into something decidedly more intimate, as if they weren’t both otherwise dressed in their costumes, mask, and goggles. When Barry licked his lips, Len was so sorely tempted to—

“Lenny! Flash! For fuck’s sake!” Lisa’s voice interrupted their quiet moment, unable to be drowned out the way the rest of the chaos had been a moment ago. 

Suddenly remembering that part of the plan was for Barry to disarm the remaining guards, he shared an apologetic look with Len, and then was gone, causing Len to fall forward onto his hands and knees once what he had been bracing himself against disappeared. 

Len gasped and fell back into a sitting position, finally able to check his leg. He wasn’t really thrown by Barry zipping away. Working with a man who could be gone in an instant was slowly becoming almost domestically normal. Though he couldn’t deny that his heart was still pounding annoyingly from the encounter. 

He grimaced at his leg as he pressed his thumbs into the muscles. He’d strained it with how much he’d run around tonight, but he knew he could walk. He’d catch hell from Caitlin when they got back to the labs though. Not to mention from—

“Lenny,” Lisa’s voice hissed, not only through the com but from right in front of him as she appeared from around the pillar, her gold gun propped up while menace burned in her eyes. 

“It was a good plan,” Len defended, leaning back to create perhaps a little more distance between them considering how pissed she looked. He wondered then if it had actually worked. “Did we get them all?”

Lisa snorted, “Of course,” and dropped down to a knee beside him, eyeing him with that perfected expression of annoyance and concern she’d mastered over the years for his sake. “Everyone remaining was either golded or had their guns melted, and while Mendoza took off running, I’m sure your boy, The Flash, has him by now.”

“What? It’s…it’s taken care of,” Barry sputtered over the com, no doubt blushing furiously at being called Len’s ‘boy’. Len shot Lisa a glare that she matched with gusto, and then Barry’s voice came over the line again. “That’s all of them. Can the rest of you keep things guarded while I call in Joe and Eddie and get Len back to the labs?”

“What for?” Len said with a scowl, even if Barry couldn’t currently see him. “I’m fine. I’ll do my part. I don’t care if I’m limping the whole way, I can make it back on my own. Only way this damn thing will ever heal.” He begrudgingly accepted Lisa’s hand when she stood and offered it down to him. He could walk. It didn’t even hurt when he put pressure on it. “Just means we need to step up our game, right, Doc?” he called over the com to Caitlin. 

“Well I’m certainly not going to be going easy on you,” she answered without missing a beat. Caitlin could have a coldness about her too, and reminded Len of Lisa when she was particularly upset with him. Her voice softened somewhat as she said, “But you better let Barry bring you back here, Len. It’s probably just from overuse, not ready for a mission like this yet—which I warned you about—but I should still check it out.”

“I’m fine,” Len insisted. He scooped up his cold gun and was only limping slightly, almost back to his normal imperceptibly tilted gait, as they moved around the pillar to join the others. 

Firestorm and Heat Wave stood like a wall of dangerous possibilities amidst the men they’d taken down, daring any of them to try something, while the ones with frozen, burnt, or gold-covered hands cowered and whimpered over their wounds. 

Barry came out from behind a pillar on the other side of the building half dragging Mendoza by the scruff of his suit coat. The man looked startled more than angry, like he’d only just realized he’d been taken down by The Flash. 

“What gives, Snart, you traitor!” he growled when Barry pushed him to the floor to join the rest of his defeated goons. Mendoza looked up at Len like he was disgusted. “You a snitch now, too, besides a cold-blooded killer?”

Len did everything he could to hide his limp as he approached the man, cold gun satisfyingly heavy at his side. He couldn’t deny that part of him wanted to raise the gun and fire it right in Mendoza’s face, but when his eyes drifted to Barry, that controlled fury dissipated. Even if Len had wanted to try and scoff in the face of the truce he had with Team Flash, the desire to kill just wasn’t there anymore, and if he tried to push for it, he’d only end up shaking. 

“What can I say? I realized I was in the wrong line of work,” Len smirked at the bested crime boss. Then basked in the smile Barry threw his way as he looked back over at him. 

Lisa came up and elbowed Len in the side. Len elbowed her right back. 

As the dust from the battle settled, Barry called in their favorite detectives from the CCPD to claim the collar. Mick, Ronnie, and Lisa would linger to wait for the hand off. Len would have been fine to do the same, and as Barry turned toward him with purpose, he nearly dissented again, thinking up all the excuses for why he didn’t need to be coddled, and certainly not carried back to S.T.A.R. Labs. 

But in the end, he chose not to fight, and tucked his cold gun into his parka as Barry approached. The state of the kid’s suit might have had something to do with it. It was hard not to feel overheated in the parka that was usually so comfortable for him when Barry looked like that—the toned muscles of his bare chest on display with the way the suit had been destroyed and further torn open. It would have been a desirable sight on any occasion, but with the rest of the suit in place, the mask still covering his eyes, the whole picture seemed deliciously indecent. 

Len shifted in place. Before now, any time Barry had flashed him away somewhere, it had happened so quickly, Len hadn’t been able to give much thought to when or how Barry carried him. But now that they were on the same side, Barry approached him slowly to make sure he was prepared before being hoisted up into a bridal carry that Len had only recently realized was how Barry always carried people when he flashed them off somewhere, it just usually happened too fast for the person to notice. 

He’d actually asked Barry about that, and Barry had stammered and rubbed his neck. “Well, how else am I supposed to do it? I have to have a good grip or I’d drop you.” It amused Len to no end that Barry had carried him that way even the first time he zipped him off out of Central City.

So now Barry sauntered over to him with a wide smile and scooped Len into his arms like it was nothing out of the ordinary, even though it made Len’s breath catch. It reminded him of that first day without his memories when Barry had flashed him to the sofa and he’d lamented how quickly it was over. 

Ignoring the snickers he heard over the com from Lisa, Len steadied himself with one hand clasping Barry’s neck and the other pressed to the already healing skin of his chest. It wasn’t even all that reddened anymore.

“Ready?” Barry asked.

“Just hurry it up, kid.”

Barry chuckled, and then took off at lightning speed.

It never ceased to amaze Len that he could be in one location one second, and an entirely different location only a few seconds later. He felt no nausea from the trip, just a thrilling tug in his gut, the rush of air around them, and then they were at S.T.A.R. Labs. 

“Cisco isn’t going to be too happy about this,” Len said, patting Barry’s chest once before pulling away as he was gingerly set on his feet.

“About what?” Cisco’s voice drifted over to them with a ready challenge, because of course he and Caitlin were right there. Oops.

Len turned to face the main area of the labs just as the pair approached them, Cisco’s eyes going wide as they landed on the ruins of the Flash suit. Barry tugged his mask back with a grimace of shame, leaving him looking ridiculously half-dressed since he was exposed all the way down to his belt. 

“What did you do?” Cisco balked, hands immediately all over Barry as he inspected the frayed off edges of the suit that had fallen away like ashes.

“I took a slight hit from one of the nitrogen guns,” Barry said, because while the others had physically seen the damage, nothing any of them had said over the com had indicated what exactly had gone down to Cisco and Caitlin. “I’m lucky it only froze off part of the suit.”

They fell into an only vaguely heated argument about Barry being more careful , and how many suits was he even going to go through each week, but before things could turn in the direction of it all having been Len’s fault, Len turned to Caitlin. 

“I’m fine,” he said, shuffling past her with as little of a limp as he could manage, disrobing as he went of his parka, goggles, and gloves, which he set on a table he passed with a clank of the cold gun tucked within, before hopping up onto the hospital bed. He made a point not to lie down, but sat on it sideways as he began undoing his boots.

“But it buckled during the fight?” Caitlin asked with a raised eyebrow, glancing at some notes she was looking over on the tablet in her arms, completely unfazed by Len now—and when the hell had that happened? Having gone from a rather terrifying villain to an only slightly infuriating team member? Len couldn’t even bother himself to mind. 

“It did,” he said plainly, letting his left boot drop to the floor, while leaving the right in place. 

Caitlin set her tablet aside and went straight to work, rolling up his pants leg to inspect it. The skin wasn’t discolored anymore, and he rarely took any pain meds for it, but it still occasionally tripped him up—literally. 

She massaged the muscles much as he had back in the building, watching his reactions for any obvious wincing as she went. He twitched over a slightly aggravated spot on his calf, but Caitlin looked satisfied.

"We’re still working on your leg catching up with the proteins it needs to regrow muscle mass and support you again," she said matter-of-factly as she reached to reclaim the tablet. "There was a good amount of damage done, remember? Lighter, regular activity is the best way to overcome that. But you’re supposed to avoid any sudden stops and starts that add extra strain."

"I had to dart out of harm’s way, Doc. No helping that," Len said.

"You mean aside from not diving into danger without warning me first?" Barry said as he escaped Cisco's tirade, who had seemingly taken the top half of the Flash suit away because he was stomping out of the room now, leaving Barry topless and swaggering Len's way.

"I did warn you," Len countered. 

"As you're doing it doesn't count."

"And here I thought I was partnered with the fastest man alive."

Caitlin snorted at their banter before turning to head into the other room. "I have some medication for you to take tonight, Len, so we can have a fresh start on therapy in the morning."

"Yes, ma'am," Len called after her. Then he and Barry were alone—Barry bare-chested and Len with one sock-clad foot.

Barry had that insufferably adorable grin on his face as he came up to the hospital bed. "Seriously though," he said, even though he seemed more amused than serious, "don't be so eager to get hurt again. Saving your life once was chore enough."

Len took a deep breath as Barry crowded in on him from the right; if he'd gone at the bed straight on, Len would have had to spread his legs to accommodate the proximity. Did this kid have any idea what he did to him, smelling like sweat and—Len didn't care what the suit was actually made of—leather.

"I figured someone had to balance out how much you throw yourself into danger without thinking first." Len raised an eyebrow at him with a sideways glance.

Barry shook his head, but his smile never wavered. He planted one hand on the bed and leaned in closer to Len, eyes dancing with mischief, and shit, Len had no idea defying death got the kid so wound up, because he was not usually this bold. The last time Len witnessed him bold was when he had Barry tucked between his thighs.

And oh, that was a nice image to remember, he thought, as he stared at Barry's slightly parted lips. 

"So if I promise to be less leap-before-I-look…you will too?" Barry spoke softly into the very short distance between them.

"Maybe..."

That heady leather smell wafted up around Len as Barry leaned the smallest bit closer—so much for blushing over being called Len's ‘boy’. "Anything I can do to convince you?"

“Barry…”

"Okay, another suit is being whipped up—"

"You're going to want to take two of these tonight—"

Cisco and Caitlin overlapped each other as they reentered at the same time. 

An extra foot separated Barry from Len in half a second as if they’d never been that tellingly close, and neither of the others seemed aware. The slightly tighter fit of Len's pants was certainly aware. But uncertainty mixed with his longing as he looked at the kid, and he caught Barry's frown in reply.

Still, Barry renewed his smile hopefully, ever the optimist. "You’re coming by the labs tomorrow, right? 

It was Saturday tomorrow, so not only did Len have more vigorous physical therapy planned with Caitlin—which would probably be even more vigorous now—but he had also promised to spar with Barry, teach him a few things about improving his fighting style rather than relying so heavily on speed. 

"Sure, kid. Wouldn’t miss it."

Barry nodded with an expectant gleam in his eyes, and moved away as Cisco vied for his attention again.

Caitlin came around the other side of the bed with a bottle of pills, listing off instructions. Len tried to pay attention, he really did, but Barry kept stealing glanced at him. "And I'll expect you two to be careful tomorrow. Don't go at each other too hard,” Caitlin said. She flushed brightly as soon as the words left her, and Len couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow her direction, much as he was relieved Barry and Cisco hadn’t overheard. "When you spar…I mean." 

"Understood," Len said, resisting further comment as he hopped down from the table.

Caitlin took hold of his arm to keep his attention before he could reach for his lost boot. "And after you change, I want to hear how the night...went, okay?"

Len looked up to meet her warm, encouraging brown eyes, and offered a tired smile. He knew he couldn't refuse her attempts at making sure his head was healing with the rest of him. But it wasn't his head he was conflicted about. He nodded.

Three weeks gone and he still couldn’t see himself as deserving of that endearing fool across the room. Len was destined to screw this up, he’d warned Barry as much. Things were good between them right now, really good. Len didn’t know how to push things further without ruining that, and feared the whole thing would start to unravel if he even dared try. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Barry again… 

So he hurried off to change while Barry was still engrossed in conversation with Cisco, unable to follow. If the kid looked longingly after him, it was better that Len couldn’t see it. And well…if he kept warm at night thinking of Barry’s vibrating touch…he was only human. 

XXXXX

Barry groaned as he threw open his bedroom door and collapsed right on top of the bed, clothes and all. 

“Night, Barr,” Joe called in humorously on his way to his own bedroom for the night. 

Barry mumbled an incoherent reply. It had been a long few weeks, and a long night. He was looking forward to sleeping in, though he still planned to be at S.T.A.R. Labs at a decent hour in the morning to spar with Len after his physical therapy. 

Barry groaned again as he rolled onto his back. He didn’t often get that sore from fighting or using his powers; his body’s natural ability to regenerate sort of made him like, in Cisco’s words, the energizer bunny. But when he was tired and actually slumped into bed, he slept hard. Sometimes he thought his body needed deep sleep as much as it needed exorbitant amounts of food, which was probably true, and he really needed to work on getting more sleep when he could. 

He glanced at his currently open door. Maybe in a bit. 

At Flash speed, he zipped to the door, closed it, locked it, and turned back to face the room. As exhausted as he was, he was still heightened from the fight, from the close call, from the way Len’s hands had spread over his stomach with worry and eventually with reprieve. Carrying Len close, even though it took only moments, was something Barry had savored while he held him, Len’s hands at his neck and chest, the cologne he wore permeating faintly from out of the parka. 

Barry had been practically buzzing by the time they made it back to the labs, regardless of his initial panic and anger at Len for doing something so foolish. But then who was he kidding—he probably would have done something similar. And sure, Lisa’s complete and utter lack of tact had made his ears go red with her comments, but he didn’t care. He had no problem with the idea of being Len’s, he just worried Len wasn’t on that same page anymore. 

Barry kept his light on—he preferred being able to see clearly—as he crossed to his nightstand and took out the lube he kept hidden in the drawer. He didn’t have toys, really, aside from a few novelty gag gifts he’d never had the guts to try, but he preferred the silky feel of lube to lotion. 

He was anxious, and considered flashing out of his clothes, but no. He needed to take his time. He wanted to stretch this out, really enjoy himself to wind down before bed. 

It had been…fun, working with Len and the others tonight, all of them a single team. Sure, Barry hadn’t been a fan of Len adlibbing the plan like that, but seeing how worried Len had acted over even the mere thought of Barry being hurt was beyond flattering. It gave Barry hope that his efforts weren’t entirely in vain. Len wanted him too, he had to. He’d said as much three weeks ago, just that they should wait, let things ease into normal and a sense of actual trust first. 

Barry hadn’t been patient then, and he was no more patient now. Every time he looked at Len, he thought of their night together and how much he wanted to revisit it, and replace the finale of broken dreams and coffee tables with something better. But every time he tried to initiative even a close brush of skin or stolen kiss, Len pulled away from him. It was maddening. 

But Len was still Len, with a little of Captain Cold mixed in, and sometimes he could be so sweet…that Barry wanted to find the threshold where sweet turned a little rough. Not cruel or overpowering the way Len had been in that now long ago warehouse, kissing him to hurt him, but rough with passionate purpose, and still a tinge of sweetness at the edges. 

That sort of described Len in a nutshell to Barry, and now that he was his whole self, all sides of him combined, Barry wanted to know how different things would be the next time Len touched him. 

So he imagined it was Len’s hands pulling his shirt from his shoulders, sliding the jeans down his hips, and…Barry hesitated at his boxer briefs and decided to keep them on for now. 

His shades were closed, his door locked, Joe far down the hall and forgotten, as Barry climbed onto his bed, atop the covers, and laid back. It was Len’s hands he imagined running down his chest, over the recently pink skin from a near brush with bitter, dangerous cold. Tonight Len’s hands had been gloved, but Barry still remembered what they felt like bare. It was so easy to conjure, and he closed his eyes as he pictured Len atop him. 

Going slow was always a challenge, especially when Barry knew he could get himself off in moments and recoup the loss almost as quickly to go again. He’d tested how many times he could do that…well, more than once, but that wasn’t what he wanted tonight. He wanted to be tortured a little, teased, and made to wait. It was easier to do that when he imagined it was Len’s hands sliding down over the already firm bulge beneath his underwear. 

Barry’s breaths picked up instantly, picturing Len’s face, his smile and equally charming smirk, his pale blue eyes and perfect features. The way his voice would be husky about now as he palmed Barry through the fabric and told him just what he was going to do to him. 

A whimper left Barry’s throat, quiet, as loud as he dared when he didn’t have a place of his own. He slipped his hand beneath the elastic, already eager, teasing, dancing around his heated skin, not yet searching for the wetness at his tip, but feeling the way it budded and pooled and started to dribble down. 

He gasped when he finally swiped his hand through it and coated his length, heightened by the wetness but wanting more. While he wanted to keep the friction going, he forced himself to stop, pause, and slide his underwear down his legs finally, kicking them to the floor. He reached for the lube, popping open the cap and pouring a liberal amount slowly down his shaft and over his balls down toward his entrance. 

He fumbled to set the bottle back on the nightstand, closed his eyes again, and it was Len’s hand sliding through the slick mess and gripping tightly as he stroked Barry. Len’s thumb that passed over his slit and ran down the base. Len’s fingers that slipped down between his legs while the other hand came up to take its place. 

Barry switched to stroking with his left hand as the right, coated in lube dripping down to stain his comforter, pressed a finger to his entrance and slid in smoothly, twirling with gentle motion. Barry’s fingers were more slender than Len’s, but it didn’t matter—this memory he had catalogued perfectly. 

_“Yeah...yeah…” Barry moaned._

_“You like that?” Len whispered huskily, eyes dark and dancing._

Barry nodded along to the memory, biting his lip as he had that night, already wanting more just as he’d pleaded for then. He slipped in another finger, so open at the thought of Len touching him, his left hand keeping a languid pace, but it was starting to vibrate, which made it very difficult to keep quiet. 

But Barry wasn’t done yet. While it wasn’t something Len could do for him, he imagined what it might be like to offer this to the other man in turn, as he willed the fingers inside of him to vibrate with the rest. 

A moan choked out of him and he snapped his jaw shut. “Fuck…” he huffed a strained whisper through gritted teeth, “Len…”

Because for all Barry’s new tricks, and how good this felt, one hand flying over his cock as the other thrust deep inside him, he wanted the touch to be someone else’s, not his own. He wanted it to be Len. 

Faster and faster his hands moved, until he was biting his lip hard enough to nearly break the skin or risk crying out. When he came it was with an all over quiver that vibrated the speed force down to his toes. 

He laid there, hot and sticky and thrumming with endorphins, his barely dwindled cock always ready to perk back up and go again, which at times could be annoying, and other times highly addictive. Tonight it was enough, because he imagined Len kissing his temple, and murmuring affections into his ear, and staying—just staying, all night and into the morning right beside him. 

That thought always brought a sour feeling to Barry’s stomach, and because he knew he would probably fall asleep only too easily after the night he’d had, he forced himself to flash his body clean, wiped himself down, and shimmied into sleep pants before crawling under the covers, the light turned off to leave the room in peaceful darkness. 

For one brief moment as he lay there he felt the sting of rejection looming, that maybe Len was only being kind three weeks ago, and didn’t really want anything more between them than what they had and had already shared. 

It was an awful, fleeting thought, wondering why the people he wished wanted him never did, before he buried his nose in the scent of sex amidst his bedding and succumbed to a much needed sleep.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I'm not TOO evil. More mutual pining soon! Bed time...


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len struggles to come to terms with his feelings for Barry, so Barry pushes their boundaries until he breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, really...this is the last time.

According to Lisa, doing normal, everyday, non-criminal things in the light of day would be good for Len as he continued to adjust to being part of Team ColdFlash—and when had she started using that name for the group anyway? It was obviously Cisco’s influence.

She was busy breaking down the kid’s barriers, after all. Len was certain they’d gone out a couple of times, no matter how much Lisa avoided the subject with cryptic smirks. All of Cisco’s hesitations had centered around reconciling that he liked ‘Captain Cold’s evil sister’, while the only issue she’d ever had was in believing she could keep a genuinely good guy interested. Neither of those things were issues anymore, or at least shouldn’t be, not if Len had anything to say about it. 

So he scowled only minimally when his sister said he should pick up coffee for the S.T.A.R. Labs group on his way to physical therapy; do something nice for everyone. That she had a very specific order in mind for Cisco was only mildly infuriating. 

Regardless, Len appreciated the effort she was making. He never would have been able to do this if Lisa and Mick weren’t with him. If they had pushed back, tried to convince him to keep things as they’d been before, he didn’t think he would have been able to go against them. 

That they seemed so happy too; Mick making friends with both aspects of Firestorm, as well as the rest of the team, and even being somewhat soft-spoken and…nice around Caitlin lately, which he could only assume had ricocheted out of Mick’s respect for Ronnie; and Lisa seeming to want the same things Len did, in her words, ‘a cute boy and a fresh start’; well, it made Len want to hang on tight to the changes happening in his life for fear that they might get whisked away from him. 

The thought of his own ‘cute boy’ made him frown as he got in line at Jitters though. Len wasn’t ready to think about Barry like that, to address the seemingly radioactive elephant in the room, not when he’d been debating if he needed to practice how to let Barry down gently. 

Len made his order quickly. Tall black for himself, extra sugar; their largest size for Barry, extra everything, including an espresso shot; half caf latte for Caitlin; and some ridiculous iced monstrosity Lisa had suggested for Cisco. Len had taken his car that morning rather than the bike, for good reason, though Caitlin had also technically banned him from using the bike for another couple of weeks. 

He turned to leave, his full order secured in a tray to carry it all, when he noticed a wildly waving hand attempting to get his attention. He looked over and stopped dead—it was Iris West, seated at a table with Detective Eddie Thawne. 

Len hesitated. He had met both of them; Iris in passing at S.T.A.R. Labs a couple of times, though thankfully they hadn’t had any time to chat; and he saw Eddie regularly when he came to collect the criminals that kept showing up at Len’s apartment. But Len wouldn’t exactly say he was friendly with either of them. Usually, Barry did the talking when the detectives showed up.

He’d been spotted though and it would be the…polite thing to do to at least stop by the table and say hello. Reluctantly, Len turned their direction. Iris looked pleased, and maybe decidedly dangerous, while Eddie afforded Len a rather critical glare and tight-lipped smile. No, this wasn’t awkward at all...

“Detective. Miss West,” Len greeted them. 

“Snart,” Eddie said simply.

“Off to the labs this morning?” Iris asked with her bright and somewhat challenging smile. 

Len was dressed for the workout he expected between Caitlin’s physical therapy and the planned sparring session with Barry. He thought he blended in quite well with the Saturday morning crowd in sneakers, workout pants, a T-shirt, and a zip-up, all in mostly greys and blues—like a real civilian. “I am,” he said. He made a point to not rest the tray on their table and risk it looking like he’d be willing to join them. He did owe several others hot coffee, after all. 

“The job went well last night,” Eddie said a little more hushed. “A shame I didn’t see Barry afterwards.”

Len looked down at the assorted sized coffees he was carrying, sensing a challenge from Eddie as well. He supposed he deserved their distrust; neither of them knew him or had been instrumental in the events that went down. They didn’t know his side of the story. “Barry was kind enough to bring me back to the labs for a quick check up after my leg gave me some trouble. Dr. Snow insisted.”

“Are you okay?” Iris asked, her concern seemingly genuine.

“Over-zealous attentiveness on Barry’s part,” Len smirked, remembering the way Barry had fussed over him, held him close, and eventually crowded in on his space on the hospital bed, “but I’m fine. Some consequences are more long-lasting than others. Though I’m afraid I don’t actually know how much either of you have been told about…recent events.” He meant his frozen leg, maybe the entire frozen ordeal, but he really wasn’t sure how much of anything these two knew. 

Their matching gazes were suddenly much more penetrating as Iris said, “Oh, you can assume we know everything,” and Eddie’s smile took on some of the danger so prevalent in hers. Barry had very loyal friends. 

“Ah,” Len said, itching to leave now, because Detective West had been bad enough, and while things were mostly amicable between them now, Len was thankful there hadn’t been any opportunities for them to be alone again since that day in the labs.

“Barry said you were going to work on his fighting style today,” Eddie said with a brief once over at Len’s workout clothes as if that fact needed confirmation. “You don’t usually fight him hand to hand though, so I’d recommend being careful. I speak from experience; his speed can sneak up on you.”

“Believe me…I know,” Len said, thinking of his faded bruises, though there was still a faint trace of them left on his jaw like smudges of green finger paint that seemed to pull both Eddie and Iris’s attention as he said that. Barry really had told them everything; it made Len feel like he was under a microscope. 

“You’ve been working so closely with everyone lately,” Iris said. “I know you’ve only recently been fully back on your feet, but still. We should all…grab dinner sometime.”

Oh god, Len thought, what did she mean by all? Was she vying for a double date? And if so, was this meant to be some sort of archaic approval system, or would they pass judgment after spending time with him and then lay down whether or not they felt he was deserving of Barry?

Which was pointless, Len thought, because he knew he wasn’t and never would be, and he didn’t need to be found wanting by Barry’s closest friends when he’d already realized that for himself. 

“I’m sure Lisa and Mick would enjoy meeting more of the team in a casual setting,” Len said to deflect her potential meaning.

Iris pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t say I’m part of the team.”

“Perhaps not in an active sense,” Len said, “but support is definitely a necessary part of any team, Miss West. You might not provide that in the same ways as Cisco or Dr. Snow, but that doesn’t mean your contributions aren’t needed. Barry speaks very highly of you quite often. I’m sure Detective Thawne would be even worse.” He glanced at Eddie, trying to smile cordially in lieu of his joke. 

Eddie’s stiff façade crumbled as the young detective smiled more naturally, and Iris looked away from Len with a brighter smile of her own, leaning into Eddie for a moment in an automatic desire to get closer to him. They had an ease about them that Len envied. 

“If you’ll excuse me though, I really need to be getting to the labs, or all my efforts this morning will be for naught if I show up with lukewarm coffee.” Len lifted the tray slightly with a polite nod before turning to leave. 

“Snart!” Iris called after him. “Just some future advice.”

Len tensed but looked back at her expectantly. 

“Next time, if you include an apple fritter…Barry will love you forever.” Her face lit up with a lovely radiance, and yet there was definitely something gauging beneath the glow. “You know,” she added in a softer, steadier tone, “if you care about that sort of thing.”

Oh, this woman was dangerous. Barry and Len’s sisters had quite a bit in common. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Len said neutrally. He glanced once more at Eddie, who looked less confrontational and more…disappointed now, then back at a contemplative Iris before nodding to them again. “Another time,” he said, and moved more swiftly as he made his way for the exit.

XXXXX

Barry bounced on the balls of his feet, clad in his grey S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt and navy sweatpants, momentarily buzzed from the rush of caffeine after downing his coffee. 

Len had brought him coffee. He’d gone out of his way to stop at Jitters and bring Barry coffee. Okay, so he’d also picked up some for Caitlin and Cisco, but still. It made Barry wonderfully anxious and alert. 

Len and Caitlin were in the other room, which Barry could see clearly due to the glass walls, though he couldn’t hear them. Cisco was going over some minor adjustments to the new suit he was making after the other one had been destroyed, most of which Barry thought was awesome and all but that didn’t require his full attention if he wanted to watch Len furtively while the other man’s back was to him. Barry was jittery after the coffee, which he may have drunk a little too fast. He could already feel his body burning through it though. 

Cisco paused in his explanation of some sort of new temperature sensors for the suit to take a sip of his iced coffee through the straw, which drew Barry’s attention, and he couldn’t help noticing the way the young scientist smiled to himself. 

His smile dropped like a guilty kid when he realized Barry had caught his dopey expression. “It’s hazelnut,” Cisco said like that explained everything. “I mentioned I liked hazelnut.” 

“To Len?”

Cisco’s brow furrowed. 

“Oh,” Barry said as the obvious caught up to him. “So…when did you mention liking hazelnut to Lisa?” he asked with a more teasing grin.

“It wasn’t a date,” Cisco said by way of answer, before blushing harder at how telling a response that was. “It wasn’t…meant to be a date. She said she wanted to go over a map of where all their safe houses are—well most of them; they’re still a little weird about revealing all of them—to see if we can use them like way stations for doing patrols. You know, checkpoints, rest points. For people who don’t have super speed,” he clarified. 

“That’s a great idea.”

“Right?”

“So…at what point did it start becoming a date?” Barry asked. 

Cisco stalled for time by taking another sip from his coffee. He hissed like he’d just given himself an ice cream headache before saying, “About the time we went to check out one of the safe houses in person to consider surveillance and com setup, and…started making out.”

“Cisco!” Barry laughed.

“She started it!”

“Not surprisingly.” Barry laughed a little harder, and while Cisco glared at him for a moment, he eventually laughed along. “At least Len likes you now, so, you know, he probably won’t give you some scary shovel talk with his cold gun pointed below the waist or anything. Probably.” Barry laughed again when Cisco paled. 

“That’s not funny!” Cisco glanced nervously back at Len through the glass, who was still faced away from them. He shuddered. “I’m totally on board with Team ColdFlash, okay, but I still don’t ever want to piss the guy off. Lisa’s really getting into this, ya know?”

Barry snickered again because his mind could only think innuendoes for a moment, and the scandalized expression on Cisco’s face when he looked back at him just made it funnier. Cisco smacked his arm, hard, though Barry feigned it hurt more than it did. “Ow!”

“Into the team!” Cisco chided. “She was super excited about setting up posts, and time slots for patrols, and specific criminals they know that we can take down across the city. The Snarts really get into making a game out of things. And whoa,” his eyes widened at a sudden thought, “can you imagine her and Len running a raid party?” 

It took Barry a moment to realize Cisco meant for an MMO or something, and…shit, yeah, that would be epic. He wondered if Len had ever played one, and wow, if he asked, Len would probably think he was even more of a dork. But then Len was a bit of a dork too, so maybe the answer would be yes.

Barry shook his head. “We’re creating a vigilante team here, Cisco, not a guild.”

“Yeah, but…team building exercises are very important in working relationships.” 

“Cisco…” Barry chuckled.

Cisco shrugged and sipped at his coffee again, smiling in satisfaction over it, and maybe going a little googly-eyed and distracted as his thoughts drifted. Eventually, he came back to earth and nudged Barry’s arm where he had previously smacked it. “So what about you?”

“Dude, I do not have time to play—”

“I mean with…you know.” Cisco not at all covertly gestured toward Len in the other room. “He’s been pretty cool this whole time. Urg.” He closed his eyes as if banishing another ice cream headache. “Don’t tell him I said that. Why is that so easy to walk into?”

Barry snorted. “You’re the one who named him.”

“Fair…” Cisco slumped in defeat, but as much as Barry wished he’d shifted the conversation to another topic, Cisco looked back at him awaiting more of an answer. “So?”

“We, uhh…” Barry looked over Cisco’s shoulder into the other room. 

Caitlin had Len standing now, facing the wall, and damn did his ass look nice in those sweats with the way his T-shirt hitched up slightly… His exercises were pretty basic now, various methods of stretching his calf without strain, letting Caitlin know if anything hurt worse than it should. 

Len pushed his hands into the wall while stretching his leg back, then stood up straight and jumped for an indistinct point near the ceiling, getting a fairly impressive vertical lift off his bare feet. On the third jump, however, he landed with what looked like a mild shot of pain that made him stumble and lean into the wall while Caitlin laid a hand on his back. Of course Len shook his head at her like it was nothing to be concerned about.

Barry startled when he felt Cisco's hand rest gently on his arm.

"That bad, huh?" Cisco said when he turned to him.

“Everything’s been great,” Barry defended, “you’ve seen…you know.” He shrugged noncommittally. 

“Barry, I’m not talking about you two generally getting along and making a good team with the rest of the group,” Cisco said. He pulled his hand back and cradled his coffee, averting his gaze. “While I am forever scarred by that surveillance footage…it certainly seemed like something you were both equally on board for, and the way he talked about you when any of us pushed back during those early days, threatening him to never betray any of us like that again or suffer the consequences…well, his defenses always had a decidedly romantic slant to them in my opinion. You both get this same faraway, pleased, miserable look on your faces. If that’s not pining, I don’t know what is.” He glanced sheepishly up at Barry.

“You think?” Barry asked hopefully. He leaned back against a table while Cisco dumped himself into one of his more commonly used roller chairs. “I know it’s weird. I mean…I know it must seem weird, or had to have seemed weird in the beginning—me and Captain Cold. We’re complete opposites—literally. He’s a criminal, or at least was. He’s older. He’s tried to kill me more than once…”

“And saved your life as many times by now, which is the only reason I’m okay leaving him alone with you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Barry huffed. "Didn't realize I needed another one of those."

“Hey, I’m allowed to be cautious. He kidnapped my brother!” Cisco didn’t say this tried and true phrase with the same hostility he might have in the past though; it just slipped off the tongue as a ready insult. “But the really weird thing is, for all your opposing qualities, you have a lot of similar ones too. Parallel, separated, sure, but not wholly opposite. And what’s that matter anyway? You get along. You enjoy spending time together. You obviously find his stupid face attractive.”

Barry rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to mention that Len and Lisa did share several aspects of their stupid faces.

“And according to Lisa, he spent the majority of the time he was laid up at his apartment marathoning Babylon 5. No one with that good of taste can be 100% evil.” Cisco grinned at Barry as he sipped once more at his iced coffee.

Barry shared the expression. Whether it was Len’s stupid—attractive—face, his dorky puns and showmanship, his love of several things geek and good music, or even the danger and dark past beneath the surface, or the painful more recent past they shared, when everything else was brushed aside Barry simply loved being with Len and felt happier in his company. 

“Okay, I’m hesitant to work Len’s leg too much more this morning if you two are going to spar,” Caitlin’s voice interrupted Barry’s thoughts, causing him to lurch away from the table he’d been leaning against. She entered the room with Len in tow behind her, who looked energized and warmed up, not really limping but not perfectly fluid in his step either.

“You’re going to have to go easy on me, kid,” Len smirked at him, “but don’t think that means I’ll go easy on you.”

Barry’s heart fluttered at the sight of Len’s playful expression and the gentle tease in his words. “No promises,” he joked back, echoing Len’s phrasing from the previous night. He caught a sly look from Cisco as the other man rolled away from him to a nearby computer terminal, and moved to meet Len in the center of the room. “Come on, I know just where to go for this.”

XXXXX

Barry led Len out of the elevator into a simple square room a few floors down from the main labs. There were several rooms on this floor with uses Barry couldn’t even guess at, but this particular room was mostly empty and had flooring similar to a gymnast space.

“I used this room for practicing sharp turns when I first got my speed,” he explained as they entered, setting a pair of water bottles against the wall for later. “The bounce to the floor actually made that pretty tough originally. Should make for good padding though.” He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his shoulders as they moved for the center of the space, unable to contain his excitement at actually sparring with Len. It reminded him of how he’d felt when Oliver first offered to train him, though at least this time Barry wouldn’t have to worry about taking any arrows in the back.

“What is this room normally used for?” Len asked.

“Something to do with researching tachyon condensation that goes way over my head,” Barry laughed. “You can ask Cisco later if you want good fuel for your next nap.”

Len chuckled back at him. He had left his zip-up where he’d been doing therapy with Caitlin, leaving him in a heather blue V-neck and lighter grey sweatpants. It shouldn’t have been strange to see him that way, Barry had seen Len in S.T.A.R. Labs brand sweats for days, but something about this being Len in his own casualwear made it seem more personal.

Len got right down on the floor to do some additional stretches, and Barry followed suit even though he didn’t really need to, given his body chemistry. 

“Do you and Lisa spar much?” he asked.

Len offered a disbelieving chuckle. “Not anymore, kid. We think too much alike.” 

“Why is that a bad thing?”

Len spread his legs to stretch center, showing off how impressively limber he could be, which so did not cause Barry’s thoughts to momentarily stray. “Do you know what happens when you get two like-minded individuals executing the same move, at the same speed and angle, toward the same body part, at the same time?” Len rattled off coyly. 

Barry raised an eyebrow at him.

“You break your sister’s toe and get an elbow to the face.”

“Oh!” Barry exclaimed. He could somehow totally envision that scenario playing out. “Ouch.”

“Invariably. At least if we have that problem today, you heal quickly,” he winked—actually winked, which would have been enough to do Barry in right then, if Len hadn’t jumped to his feet at that point, prompting Barry to do the same. “Never good to stretch too much before a workout though, or you tire the muscles, I’ve just been a little out of practice the past few weeks. Of course I doubt getting tired is something you usually have to worry about.”

“If you knew how many miles I’d put in on that treadmill upstairs,” Barry whistled, “but I only break a sweat when I forget to eat. So…you’re buying lunch after this, right?” He squared off facing Len, grinning widely.

Len mirrored him, bodily and with his smile, but then seemed to shrug the comradery off with a shake of his head. His face went serious. “Focus, kid. I’ll feed you if you earn it. No speed today. You need to learn how to handle yourself at normal reaction time first, then when you speed up, no one will be able to touch you.”

“Right,” Barry nodded, “so how should we—” 

Since Barry was fixated on not using his super speed, he wasn’t prepared to react when Len was suddenly in his space knocking his feet out from under him and crashing him hard to the floor on his back. He gasped as the wind rushed from his lungs. 

“If someone disrupts your speed, Scarlet, you still need to know how to block,” Len called down to him. And then there was an outstretched hand, and Barry blinked his momentary dizziness away as he reached for it. Len hoisted him up with impressive strength, though maybe not with quite the same effortlessness as Mick.

“I wasn’t ready,” Barry said, thankful his recovery time for something like that was next to zero, so by the time he was facing Len again, he was no longer winded. 

Len eyed him, unamused. 

“Right, I know, enemies aren't going to wait for me to be ready, I just meant…” Barry trailed, squaring his stance again; no excuses. Oliver had been the first to teach him not to get cocky about his speed, and the last thing he wanted to do was relapse back to that, not after he’d learned how often his speed could fail him.

Len came at Barry again, seemingly going for the same move, but this time Barry planted his foot more solidly, deflecting the pass of Len hooking under his knee to trip him. Barry tried to grab Len while they were close, secure the other man’s arms to his sides so he couldn’t go for any punches, but before Barry could wrestle him to the ground, Len went limp in his hold and they crumbled to the floor.

Barry was too surprised to know how to react—he’d expected a struggle not dead weight dropping—and just as they landed, Len rolled, slipped from Barry’s grip, and ended up on top of Barry with his knee planted against Barry’s windpipe. Thankfully, Len didn’t hold the position for long, and Barry gasped when he was lifted back to his feet again. 

“Starting to get the lesson yet?” Len asked.

“You…always know how to counteract anything I do.”

“And you should too. Every move has a counter move, more than one if you’re smart. Anything someone tries on you, you should be thinking five moves ahead to how you can counter them and get the upper hand. With your speed that should come easy, but you need to get a handle on it at a snail’s pace first or it’ll never be second nature.”

Barry marveled at Len’s logic. Oliver had been an effective teacher, but he couldn't give Barry the special attention required when he had his own city to protect. If only Barry had had Len to train him when he was facing Reverse Flash…

The brief thought made Barry scowl, hating that so much of his life was made up of what ifs and if onlys that coiled like a hissing snake in his chest, so he decided to use that. He never wanted to feel as helpless as Thawne had made him feel. Len was here now, and combined with what Barry had learned from Oliver, Eddie, and even Thawne himself, any new villains wouldn't stand a chance.

They spent several rounds with Len always starting with the same move, sometimes doing the same second move, sometimes something else, until Barry was thinking of different ways to counter, and all the different ways Len might counter that. They made it up to three sometimes four moves before usually Len took Barry down, though Barry claimed a couple of rounds.

When Len finally started a new round aiming an uppercut at Barry's side instead of the usual tripping move, Barry wasn't even thrown, but deflected the hit, and would have felt a moment of pride that he hadn't been tripped up by the change, if Len hadn't spun away from the block, charged Barry right at his center of gravity, lifted him, and flipped Barry over his shoulder. Barry landed with an oof.

He was down but not beaten, so instead of admitting defeat, Barry grabbed Len around the knees before the other man could move away and yanked. Len cried out in surprise as he toppled, landing with an equal oof to Barry's as he hit the floor beside him, only reversed, their heads facing opposite directions. Len coughed through the harsh landing and glared at him a moment before breaking out in a strained laugh.

"Better," he huffed, and patted Barry's chest from their flipped positions. "The rest comes with practice, kid. Get used to enough moves and counters…you'll be ready for anything."

"Does that mean we can make this a regular occurrence?" Barry asked eagerly.

"Sure. I need the workout." Len groaned as he started to sit up, so Barry reached for the arm beside his own and gripped it firmly. Using each other for leverage, they pulled, their hips aligned enough that when they sat up, they were shoulder to shoulder, their faces close. 

Barry shuddered. This was the perfect moment to be bold like he had been last night, no interruptions. Len's lips were damp from the sweat sheening his face, and parted slightly as he took in deep, labored breaths. And there was no mistaking that Len's eyes were trained just as heatedly on Barry's lips in return.

So Barry leaned into the space between them…but before his lips could meet Len's, Len pulled away, released Barry's arm, and lurched to his feet. Barry hastily followed. He didn't understand why Len kept fighting this, but he wasn't willing to give up that easily.

"Why don't we take a break?" Barry suggested, following Len to the edge of the room, where they'd set their water bottles.

Len stayed facing away from him as he snatched his up and took a drink. "If I break, I’ll need to stop, kid. I don't bounce back the way you do."

“Is your leg okay?” Barry hadn’t noticed any telling increase to Len’s limp.

“Don’t worry, it actually feels better than usual. Another reason we kept things slow.”

"Right, sure…so why don’t we stop?" Barry came up next to Len, peering around into his face with a winning smile.

Len avoided his stare and bent to set his water bottle back on the floor. Barry used the opportunity to move into Len’s space, nothing at all subtle about how close he was when Len stood back up. Len looked startled, enough that he didn't immediately back away.

Barry reached reverently for the remaining bruises he'd caused along Len’s jaw, nearly faded completely now, and drew Len's face toward his own. But Len resisted, shook Barry away, and stumbled back.

"Look, kid..." He seemed pained, conflicted, but why, Barry couldn’t understand. 

If Len wanted him, why did he keep pulling away? If he didn’t…had he ever, or had some things been just for fun and convenience’s sake after all, and the good person Len had become just didn’t want to hurt Barry by admitting that?

When Len looked down at the floor as if searching for the right words, Barry took the initiative. “Was any of it fake?” he asked cautiously.

Len’s head snapped up, the pained expression intensifying with the added remorse that filled his ice blue eyes. “No, Barry…I swear, the only time I lied was after I left here.” 

The words came so readily, Barry wanted to believe them. He stepped into Len’s space again. “Then what happened to the guy who said I was everything about a new beginning he’d ever ask for?” 

There was moisture in Len’s eyes, every muscle in his body taut like a spring trap. But instead of being triggered, the tension seemed to release and melt away into something sadder. Len’s voice was soft as he said, “He stopped believing he should ask.” 

Barry had hold of Len’s lightly bruised cheek before he could protest again, pulling him toward him swiftly, his other hand sliding around Len’s waist where he clung to the damp lower back of Len’s T-shirt, their bodies aligning perfectly as they came together and their mouth’s met. 

Barry didn’t allow for anything chaste this time, not like three weeks ago when he’d been compelled to kiss Len with eager forgiveness. His lips parted as he sought out the connection he’d been missing, that he’d tried since before the start of week two to recapture, and held Len as snugly as he could. 

For a few moments, Len responded beautifully in reply, his own hands trembling and then clinging to Barry’s hips as he returned the kiss, meeting the way Barry cloyed for his tongue with equal fervor. But in too short a time, something seemed to spark in Len that made him pull away again, gasping out of the kiss as he turned his head. 

“Barry…” He tried to step back but Barry hung on tight. 

“Please…” Barry near whimpered between them, sliding his right hand around the soft fuzz of Len’s shorn hair and pulling him back in. 

This time Len didn’t resist. It was easy to shift and shuffle their somewhat stumbling steps until Len’s back pressed into the nearby wall and Barry was able to sink against him. It was everything Barry would have asked for to replace the bitter image of this same position in the warehouse. This time there was no anger, no raging disbelief, just need and rising heat.

As their mouths and bodies slotted against each other, Len’s hands moved up beneath the hem of Barry’s T-shirt, feathering along the skin and then squeezing possessively. Barry followed his example, his left hand slipping up under the line of Len’s shirt, feeling the warm skin of his side and back, then trailed down again where his fingers teased the edges of the elastic along his sweats. The promising contact made Len buck up against him, and Barry moaned into Len’s mouth with the reaction he could feel building between them.

It was everything Barry wanted it to be…before Len snapped his head away once more and moved his hands to brace against Barry’s chest. 

“Barry…stop…” Len said between ragged breaths.

Barry leaned helplessly forward, wanting only to reconnect. “Please,” he said again, fingers pressing greedily into the skin beneath his hands. “I listened when you pleaded with me that night…” 

Len pulled himself further back against the wall, staring at Barry in frustration, maybe even anger that Barry couldn’t place or comprehend. “Yes,” he said sharply, “and maybe you shouldn’t have.”

The words carried an immediate sting that broke the spell Barry was under. His hands loosened from Len’s side and head, falling away as he stepped back with a kind of blank disbelief, only his right hand lingering as it came to rest on Len’s shoulder. “What…?” He couldn’t process anything more than uttering that breathless question.

Len didn’t answer, but he sighed, closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again with grief flashing through the vibrant blue. He pulled away fully, stepped away and around Barry, leaving him there with his hands dropping to his sides, staring at an empty wall.

Barry felt numb and nauseous—how was this happening to him again…?

Only when Barry heard Len falter and pause in his exit did he look to see the other man halted at the doorway, hand to the wall with most of his face obscured almost out of the room. Len looked sad, pitying, Barry thought, when he turned his head to meet Barry’s gaze from around the barrier of the wall.

“I’m sorry, Barry,” he said, and darted from the room.

Why had Barry even tried? Iris had felt something for him, something…but not enough, not enough that she truly returned his affections. Now here he was again going through the same let down because he couldn’t get it through his head when he wanted someone more than they wanted him.

Barry turned and slumped against the wall, the energy drained from him so fully, he felt almost dizzy, and let gravity take him until he slid down into a heap on the floor. He sat with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, and buried his face to hide the tears he could already feel coming.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more pitfalls after this, I swear, I swear! Just leave it to Cisco.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco confronts Len, and Len decides to follow the kid's advice and take what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank both coldflashtrash and coldtomyflash (RedHead) for inspiring where some of the later scene in this went... ;-)

Len was shaking again. He was such a fucking idiot. He should have known things would take this route today, alone with Barry, close quartered and sweaty. The kid hadn’t been subtle about what he wanted from Len for weeks, and Len could only be subtle in how he steered them away from that for so long. 

It had felt like trying to sever a limb each time he pushed Barry away, turned his head aside, or broke from their embrace. Barry was so eager, so starved for him, and wasn’t that the saddest part? That Barry Allen could probably have his pick of men and women, and he foolishly wanted the worst possible option. 

Leonard Snart, forever unlucky in love, only this was the first time he was denying himself on purpose. Giving up what he wanted for someone else’s benefit—that had to be something like enlightenment, like absolution. 

It fucking sucked, burned like a hot iron inside his chest, but damn it, he had to believe he was making the right call. Barry might revert to hating him for a time—no, he almost certainly would—but in the long run, this would be better. Barry deserved someone less…soiled. Someone who’d never hurt him, who would bring light into his life the way he brightened everyone else’s. Someone good. Someone younger. Someone better.

Len didn’t know what floor he’d pushed once he got inside the elevator, but he didn’t recognize the layout when he stepped out. He should probably go back up, but he welcomed the chance to be alone for a few minutes. 

It was a narrow hall, so he walked a few steps just to leave the elevator behind. Against his will, his vision darkened, each new stride leaving him shaking just a little more, until the trembling surged through him and he feared he'd lose his breath and pass out on the floor where no one would know to look for him.

Rather than risk collapsing or stumbling upon something he wasn't meant to disturb, he paused to lean against the wall and took a few deep, soothing lungfuls of air. He knew why he was shaking; it always snuck up on him again when he tried to deny himself what he really wanted. Because he'd be lying if he said he didn't want Barry, so badly, so bone-deep it ached, but it was a selfish desire, too selfish; he was supposed to be better than that now.

He slammed a fist back into the walk, once, twice, the third time falling away weakly because try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from shaking. 

"Hey, Citizen Cold! What do you think you're doing down here?"

Len gasped at the sudden intrusion of Cisco's voice. He pushed from the wall, but he wasn't fully steady yet and swayed. He braced himself with one hand as he glanced down the corridor at where Cisco had appeared, looking startled like he might need to rush forward and catch Len before he crumbled to the floor.

"I'm fine," Len said, and then grimaced as he remembered what Cisco had just called him. "And you nailed the name the first time, kid; stop trying to tamper with perfection."

Cisco snorted, his expression turning from worried to wholly unimpressed. He was holding that tablet he often carried, as he came to stand only a foot from Len. He leaned casually against the wall, almost mirroring Len, and seemingly still ready to dart forward and catch him if need be. 

Len took in a long breath, focusing on Cisco to ground him until his breaths and hands were steady. "Sorry, I stepped onto this floor by accident, no hidden agenda. I just needed a breather after..." he glanced at the space between them, "sparring…with Barry.”

"Wow," Cisco dead-panned, eyeing Len skeptically when he looked up, "good guy you sucks at lying. You also have a really short memory." He turned the tablet to face Len, which displayed live footage of Barry still in the room they'd been sparring in, huddled on the floor with his head on his knees like he was...sobbing.

Shit. Len should have expected that. But he fought the guilt building in his gut by turning an indignant glare on Cisco. "Apparently nothing that happens in this building is sacred."

"Hey, I wasn’t spying," Cisco defended, pulling the tablet back into his chest. "I was planning to come watch you guys spar in person, but I had something to finish so I decided to multi-task. Then things progressed as they usually do with you two…” He rolled his eyes as if it was all just so childish and predictable then narrowed his gaze on Len. “So what the hell is your problem?”

Len was not having this conversation. He felt fine now and removed his hand from the wall, standing steadily on his own power. “You should go check on your friend, instead of wasting your time on me.” He made to move around Cisco and head back toward the elevator, but this wasn’t the same quivering young man he’d first met. 

Cisco gripped his arm tightly, meeting his challenging stare with somehow even more fire than Iris or Eddie—though maybe not more than Joe. “Are you kidding me right now, because dude, you do not get to pull this shit. Yeah, I saw what happened. So sue me. I was fully planning to cut the feed and leave you guys in peace, when low and behold, just as I reach over to turn it off, there you are pushing Barry away, walking away even, and leaving him there—again. You aren’t obligated to return his feelings, Len, but I do expect you to not be a dick. You don’t get to play into him and kiss him back like that, just to throw him aside—”

“I’m not—!” Len nearly shouted before cutting himself off, stopping himself from slamming Cisco back into the wall after tearing his arm out of the kid’s grip. He didn’t give into his anger, that was never who he was; he was calm and in control even at his worst. But when the real anger was turned inward, it was harder to remember that. 

He clenched his fists and stepped back to give Cisco space, who looked slightly spooked by the visceral response but not deterred. When Len didn’t attempt to speak again, Cisco shook his head. 

“You’re both idiots, you know that?” he said. “I know you’re not that same asshole who left Barry some cruel note and saluted the camera after using him”—and fuck it hurt to hear Cisco say it like that— “That’s why it’s so frustrating, because I know you really care about Barry, you’ve done everything you can to prove that these past few weeks, so what exactly is messed up in your head right now that you aren’t being accepting of this one final thing?”

Len let out a disbelieving laugh. Cisco didn’t get it. How could he? Neither he nor Barry ever could, because they were too young, too optimistic about the world still and what might lie ahead of them. Len knew better; he knew what he was worth. If he could make up for some of it by saving a few lives and protecting Barry and the others out in the field…that’s all he had a right to ask for. 

“God, you are so ridiculous,” Cisco scolded him, arms crossed with the tablet tucked against his side and a petulant snarl on his face. “I see right through you, Cold. You can argue all you want over who you hurt the most in this group, but it’s because of me that Barry’s life was put at risk. It’s my fault you found out his identity, so you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. Is that what you want? Do you think that would be better? Do you really wish you could go back to planning heists and one-upping cops and vigilantes until—”

“You know that’s not what I want,” Len broke in. “Not the way it was before. But that’s the point. You know what I was. Did I seem remorseful then,” Len took a solid step closer to Cisco, daring him to stand his ground, or to falter and hit the wall at his back, “when I threatened you and your brother? No. Because I wasn’t. Feeling it now doesn’t change that, doesn’t fix anything, even if you do forgive me.”

Bless the kid, because he did stand his ground, but as Len finished, Cisco’s arms dropped and he looked at him like he felt sorry for him more than anything. “So we forgive you, but you won’t accept it? And that’s just it? You’re going to zombie your way through this because you think it’s what you deserve? I didn’t take Captain Cold for a martyr. It would be one thing if you were martyring yourself for something earned, but this isn’t a pity party, Len. You don’t need to make up for all of that by being miserable and making Barry miserable with you.” 

Len opened his mouth to counter that, but he faltered. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be angry, to fight back, to dissent again, but Cisco’s passionate plea continued before he could find the right words. 

“You think I don’t get it, but I do. You don’t think you deserve him. Well, you know what? You don’t. You really don’t, or this second chance you’re getting that plenty of other people could probably pull off better,” he said almost heartlessly, but Len sensed the softened blow coming even before Cisco’s expression shifted into honest pleading. “But so what? Sometimes you don’t need to deserve it. You’ll probably never deserve it. But you know what you do when you get this lucky? You don’t question it. You’re always going to feel like you don’t deserve Barry, because he has seen you at your worst and still wants you. He is a grown man who can make his own decisions, and if that decision is to love you then for fuck’s sake, Len…let him love you.”

Len rocked back on his heels as if Cisco had physically pushed him. Was Cisco really telling him to suck it up and take what he wanted even if Barry did deserve better and could probably have better, just because Len could? Just because it was what Barry wanted too? 

And why not? Len wished Cisco's words sounded foolish, but they didn’t. The more he digested the kid’s argument, the more sense it made. Len had thought he was choosing the selfless path in letting Barry go, but in the end he was just being selfish again and he hadn’t even realized it. 

“Besides,” Cisco spoke up, the charged intensity between them dissipating somewhat as he allowed a restrained grin, “Lisa has basically mandated that I help get you two idiots together, and I really don’t want to be on her bad side.” 

Laughter bubbled out of Len before he could stop it. “Oh?” he said a little hysterically, amazed Cisco was openly admitting this. “Is she holding out on you until you succeed in this match-making scheme?” 

Cisco deflated beneath Len’s scrutinizing gaze. "Uhh…that is…really not something I want to discuss with you.” 

How much Len genuinely liked this kid stirred in his chest with unfamiliar warmth, not only for Lisa’s sake, but as a friend for Barry...and for himself. "I don’t disapprove," Len said despite the urge in him to torture Cisco a little. "Well…I do disapprove of these guerrilla tactics she has you pulling, but…" He shrugged. He couldn't imagine someone better suited for his sister and the new life they were striving for.

Cisco looked mildly surprised, definitely relieved, before sputtering, "Hey, stop evading. Because while I appreciate that—seriously, I was half expecting you and Mick to corner me at some point, and I’ve had at least one nightmare where that happened—Lisa and I are not the issue. And we haven’t even had what I’d consider a real date with all this mess of…everything lately, so we haven’t gotten far enough where holding out could even be a thing." He blushed in the wake of his impressive rambling, but shook his head as his resolve renewed. "You and Barry, on the other hand…"

"I get it," Len held up a hand, feeling the brief mirth shared between them fading as he looked at Cisco seriously again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the image of Barry tilted on the tablet with how it hung from Cisco's side showing him standing finally and moving to leave the room. Len looked up into Cisco's eyes. "You really think I should go after him?"

Cisco glanced down at the tablet, frowning with empathy for his friend. "He's probably going to the pipeline to think. He does that sometimes. And yes," he said as he looked up once more, "much as you often piss me off still...you should, because it's what you both want, and I'd rather see my friends happy, not caught up in all this self-sacrificing bullshit. Enough of that happens on patrol, thank you very much. And facing assholes like you used to be." He lightly smacked the tablet against Len's chest.

"Your friends, huh?" Len grinned at him.

Cisco’s eyes narrowed. "Stop changing the subject, Cold."

"So about you dating my sister..."

Cisco slipped out from around Len and how he'd had him wedged against the wall, moving swiftly for the elevator. "Better hurry before Barry flashes away, man,” he said. “Clock's ticking.”

“Cisco…” Len called after him with a tinge of reproach—maybe a little warning. He smirked when the kid looked back at him. “There's only one way up, so where exactly do you think you’re escaping to?”

Cisco glanced forward toward the elevator around the bend then back at Len, and slumped. “Urg, come on then. But you are not allowed to scare me just for the fun of it when you basically just gave me your blessing.”

Len moved after Cisco as soon as the kid spun around to make for the elevator with all due haste. He snickered to himself, making a point to stand very close to Cisco once they were in the elevator on their way back up. “Says who?” he whispered down at him, and what sinister part of Len remained reveled in the shiver he caused. He couldn’t go too easy on the kid, after all, if he was going to stay deserving of Len’s baby sister.

They stopped at a floor Len had seen before but hadn’t often visited—the pipeline. He hesitated as his confidence drained in the face of what was to come, but Cisco turned the tablet toward him, showing that Barry had already beat them up here and was clearly sulking in the main area where they had once deposited meta humans. 

“I assume you’re going to turn that off after I leave?” Len asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Cisco swiped the screen to his background image, which Len was pretty sure was the symbol for the Star Wars Rebel Alliance. “I’ve had enough voyeurism to last me a lifetime, thanks. I’ll turn the cameras off for down here when I get upstairs. But please don’t think you need to take that as a challenge for what you two can get away with just because nobody’s watching.” Cisco eyed Len grimly as he extended a hand to keep the elevator door from closing. “Get going, Cold.”

Len offered him a brief grin before stepping out into the hallway, feeling somehow more anxious than he had when anticipating first asking for Barry’s forgiveness three weeks ago. He was still unsure of the decision to simply accept and take what he wanted, but maybe he didn’t need to believe he was worthy. Maybe being worthy…isn’t what mattered.

Len looked back at Cisco as the elevator doors closed. “Thanks, kid.”

XXXXX

Part of Barry just wanted to go home, but when he felt his worst he often either wanted to run as fast and as far as he could…or move at a glacial pace to wallow in the ache. And it was an intense ache this time. He was such a fucking idiot. 

He just needed a few minutes alone, surrounded by the white noise of the pipeline’s hum, and then, then maybe he’d go home and try to bury himself in something monotonous to take his mind off of how not only did Iris not want him, but Len didn’t want him either.

Fuck. Maybe Barry did want to run. He felt a terrible need to just get away, which was why he had come here in the first place, for once pleased that the pipeline was empty. He faced the door to the holding area and placed a hand on one of the glowing blue pipes. He felt the vibrations as much as heard the hum.

How was he supposed to face Len after this? He knew he was being maudlin about the whole thing. After all, as tough as it had been with Iris, he'd survived that, things had gotten better, and he was truly happy for her and Eddie now. But the freshness of this new wound made it harder to believe it would be that easy this time.

"Barry?" a tentative voice echoed to him down the cavernous tunnel.

Barry's heart lurched. No. Not now. He couldn't face Len this soon. "Can I, umm...can I just have some time alone?" he called back without looking, tightening his grip on the pipe he was leaning into. "I'm fine, really, I just…need a minute." Or maybe thirty. Or a thousand…

"Sorry, kid, I'm afraid I can't do that," Len said, closer, sounding already right at Barry's back, and how had he moved across the space that quickly without Barry realizing?

Barry whirled around, unsure if he should be ready for a fight after those challenging words. He hadn't wanted Len to see how red his eyes were, but now he had to look, and he gasped at how close Len was, only a foot from him as Barry turned, and not stopping his momentum forward.

Len, still in his sweaty T-shirt and pants, moved into Barry's space until Barry fell back against the door. Len's hand came up to grip his neck, the other reaching around Barry’s waist and tugging him in against him with firm strength. He brought their bodies and mouths together and kissed Barry soundly, no hesitation, no words or moment to pause, and licked his way into Barry's mouth with an eager confidence that had been missing these past few weeks.

Barry was so startled, he couldn't do anything but kiss Len back, moving his own tongue in tandem, both hands up and braced against Len's chest in surprise. They moved against each other as if picking up right where they’d left off downstairs. It was a delirious, buzzing few moments, where Barry’s mind struggled to catch up with what was happening.

When Len finally pulled away with a sharp intake of breath, he kept his hold on Barry, his lips hovering close and breath dusting across Barry's skin. “Can we pretend...that the last few minutes of complete idiocy on my part never happened…and try this again?"

Was Barry dreaming? He seriously wondered for a moment if he had passed out, maybe tripped in a moment of spectacular clumsiness and knocked himself unconscious. But if he was dreaming then he wanted to enjoy this for as long as he could.

He nodded within Len's close hold on him, feeling the dampness between them, their bodies and their lips, and wanting nothing more than to reconnect. He slid his hands up Len's chest and reached around behind his head with both palms clinging tight and pulled Len back to him. Whatever tears had still been in his eyes, streaked down his cheeks as their lips met once more.

Len's hands moved down to settle around Barry's back, as close of an embrace as they could manage without being pressed to a solid surface. Their urgency knocked them back into the door again though, and while it dug into Barry's back uncomfortably, he didn't care, because the leverage meant Len plastered his body against him and ground forward with every ounce of want and desperate need that Barry had been chasing these many days.

But as much as Barry wanted to give in and just accept this sudden change of heart from Len, the twist of pain from how he'd been denied and rejected once more by the person he most wanted made him too skeptical, too terrified it could all be taken away.

He shuddered as he pulled his head back into the door, licking his lips that Len had left moistened and tingling, and said, "Wait...please." 

He held Len's head reverently, unwilling to let go, and arched without meaning to into how deliciously tight their bodies were met together. It wasn't easy to focus like that, especially with the way Len's icy blue eyes looked back at him through the barely there space between them with penetrating hunger.

"I…I don’t understand," Barry stuttered. "I can't...can't do this just to have you change your mind again. If this is…pity…" He felt his face cringe at how awful that would be.

The heat in Len's stare turned suddenly cold, as heartbreaking disbelief filled his eyes. "Barry...fuck, kid, of course that’s not it. Shit, now I get why Iris and Eddie looked so dangerous this morning. They knew you’d feel like this if I pulled away…” Len brought his hands up to Barry’s face and brushed his tears away with the pads of his thumbs. 

That earnest devotion was all Barry had ever wanted from the Len without memories. He’d take everything else about the man before him now if he could just have that along with it. 

“I’m sorry I keep hurting you,” Len said breathless between them, their bodies flush up against the door and each other, but held still, as they clung to each other’s faces and their foreheads pressed together from sheer need to connect. “It could never be pity. Pulling away has never been about not wanting you, Barry. I want you. I want you so much it aches. But I don’t deserve you…” he trailed as he choked on the words, and grimaced at the truth leaving his lips, “…and I never will.”

Barry gaped. Len thought Barry was too good for him? That’s why he’d held back and walked away? For all of Len’s faults and tainted past, that being the reason he might reject Barry had never even dawned on him. It was rare that Barry felt good enough even for himself. 

“Yes, you do,” he said, tightening his hold around Len’s ears and jawline to keep their gazes locked. “You turned your whole life upside down for me. You can’t even say it’s only because of the amnesia either, because it all started when you tried to save me. It hurts still thinking back to when you first walked away, the things you said and did…but you came back. You stayed. You faced trauma and confusion and a shaken sense of identity I’ll never be able to understand, and when it was all over, we could have been enemies again, but we’re here instead. Because of you, and the choices you made. If that’s not…heroic,” Barry grinned as he realized how much he meant the words leaving him, and how it made Len’s eyes widen in wonder, “if that’s not deserving of me just wanting to be with you…then I don’t know what is.”

They went for each other at the same time, hands wrapped around each other, tugging, Len’s body pressing incessantly forward, as their tongues sought each other and moved in eager, smooth strokes. 

Barry let his hands drift back down to Len’s T-shirt so he had something to grip and twist his fingers into, pulling Len ever closer like it could never be enough. When one of Len’s hands fell to Barry’s neck, fingering at the tiny hairs there, and the other raked nails back to the crown of Barry’s scalp and tugged, Barry moaned out of their kiss and bucked forward. 

“Mmm…you like that, Scarlet?” Len panted beside his ear, in that same husky tone he’d used when asking if Barry liked the way his fingers moved inside of him, and that nearly undid Barry right there.

Barry couldn’t grasp any coherent words for a response, but when Len tangled his fingers for a better grip, pulling just a bit harsher and using his hold to expose Barry’s neck and latch his mouth onto the sinew there, sucking obscenely and licking at the skin, Barry’s renewed moan echoed throughout the pipeline. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this…” Len growled against his skin. 

Barry bit his lip to keep from moaning again. His mind wandered to last night, and how vividly he’d imagined Len touching him and bringing him to rapture. “Oh…I think I do…”

Afraid he might accidently tear Len’s shirt right down the middle in his eager twisting, wanting something, anything to do with his hands that would be as glorious as Len tugging his hair back while sucking on his neck, Barry suddenly knew exactly where he wanted his hands to go. 

He moved them swiftly down to Len’s waist, teasing along the elastic like he’d tried after their sparring, this time finally knowing that Len wouldn’t pull away or ask him to stop. He slipped just his fingertips beneath the waistline and followed the fabric all the way around to the back. He could feel how hard Len was through their sweats, pressed tight together, rocking into each other’s hips like teenagers. 

Barry slid his hands cleanly, easily into Len’s sweats, beneath the cotton and boxer briefs beneath that, touching nothing but skin as he gripped tight and pulled Len against him with another well-timed buck forward. He’d always wanted to grab hold of Len’s perfectly sculpted ass, ever since he’d seen it bare in the shower with water cascading down the curves. 

Len grunted in response, not quite a moan, but mostly because it choked out of him with the way he’d just pulled Barry’s earlobe into his mouth. His hips stuttered forward to meet Barry’s, tongue darting a little more fleetingly to lick along the rim. 

“I…am going to put that tongue to better use soon,” Barry huffed, squeezing Len’s cheeks with both hands. 

Len chuckled with dark amusement. “Oh? Do tell…”

Barry blushed, amazed those words had actually left him, because he had never thought of himself as someone who could pull off dirty talk, but it had just come so naturally to say that. 

He arched his neck back to give Len more access, moaning a little every time Len gave a fresh tug with the grip he had on Barry’s hair. 

Barry’s first thought was of Len’s mouth around his cock, of course, because the very idea was mind-numbing to consider, but then his thoughts drifted back to how Len’s fingers had felt moving within him so assuredly, and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I’m picturing that tongue…inside me…making me wet so I can ride you…”

The most gratifying moan fell from Len’s lips as he shuddered against Barry, nosing his neck as he caught his breath, and stilling any movement of his hips like he desperately needed a moment to contain himself. “Fuck, kid…you can’t just say something like that.”

Apparently Barry was good at dirty talking. He grinned as he gave Len’s ass another firm squeeze and tilted his head to whisper in his ear, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Len growled a deep, promising rumble.

Then Barry remembered where they were, and how the door into the main part of the pipeline was biting into his back. “Len…the cameras,” he said, peering over Len’s shoulder and wondering if anyone was watching, which…was a strangely alluring but also mortifying sensation. 

“Cisco said he’d…turn them off.”

“You really want to risk it?”

Len seemed to think about that. He finally released Barry’s hair and moved both hands to just grasp Barry around the shoulders and hold him to his chest. “I want to make these past three weeks up to you,” he said, and pulled his head back so they could look each other in the eyes. Len’s pupils were wonderfully blown, just a sliver of blue showing, his cheeks flush and lips glistening. “Got any place in mind?”

Barry considered logistically rooms in the labs, but everywhere had potential cameras, and they really didn’t need more footage of them archived like that. Then he remembered that Joe had been on his way into work when Barry left for S.T.A.R. Labs. No one was home. The very bed Barry had touched himself in thinking of Len was waiting for them with no distractions, no interruptions, and no hang-ups left between them to ruin this. 

Barry took a few deep breaths as he slid his hands out of Len’s sweats and gripped him around the waist. Their erections still met impressively hard between them, but they’d held any crescendo at bay for now, and looked into each other’s eyes with serious purpose. 

“Hold on,” Barry said with a wicked grin, and zipped them out of the labs. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go read this http://coldtomyflash.tumblr.com/post/124861462047/i-will-pay-people-for-more-hair-pulling-coldflash and then tell coldtomyflash umm yes she does need to finish and post this thing to AO3 so it's easier for us all to praise it. And thank you for making me absolutely have to include hair pulling in this chapter after I read that. 
> 
> The dirty talking and ass grabbing were for coldflashtrash, because those have definitely been recurring headcanons. And part of Cisco's rant at Len was all from her too. I just had to paraphrase how beautifully she put things when ranting at Len herself recently. :-)
> 
> Next up...umm, I think you know what's coming up next. ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry Allen has a filthy, filthy mouth, and he knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I've written the hottest thing I could ever write, eventually it all comes full circle, but I can tell you that, as of this moment...this is the hottest thing I have ever written, OMG.

Len wouldn’t lie; he loved when Barry whisked him away. It had been a thrill from the very first time, even when they were still set against each other as enemies. 

Back then, when Len had asked for a ride back to town after Barry brought him to that secluded spot in the woods, he’d meant it. He would have loved another ride in those strong arms that seemed to hold and release him in barely a moment’s time, with such impossible power. Barry had no idea how much that encounter had made Len's heart race with excitement, that some kid had been blessed with abilities a Greek myth would envy and still wasn’t a threat because he couldn’t bear to hurt anyone. 

What games they’d have, he’d thought. What fun. What ways could he push this boy-god that didn’t believe his own strength, and still come out ahead? Len had managed too, so many items, to beat Barry, but in the end he was the one who’d been beaten. He was the one who’d been saved, changed—forever lost to the whirlwind of The Flash. 

They arrived in the entryway to Barry's home, Barry lingering with Len hoisted up into his arms since he no longer felt embarrassment from the act. He set Len down with a wide, goofy grin on his face, too bright to be real, before calling out into the stillness of the house, “Joe!”

When no one answered, he turned back to Len with eager excitement. 

“Just checking,” he said, and stepped into Len’s space to steal a quick kiss. He hummed, this low, obscene sound that was more than enough to renew Len’s dwindled erection after the trip. But Barry wrinkled his nose when he pulled back. “I feel kind of gross though. Want to rinse off first?”

Len tilted forward closer into Barry’s body. “You’re offering to shower together…before we have sex?”

Color blazed across Barry’s cheeks from Len stating things so plainly, but Len didn’t believe it anymore—Barry's seeming innocence. “Well, you know…we worked up a good sweat earlier, and there are a lot of really dirty things I want to do to you…and have you do to me, so…” He shrugged, his smile playful and entirely unfair in every possible way. Len didn’t think he could ever refuse that expression. 

“Such a gentleman,” Len grinned, tugging Barry closer by the front of his T-shirt—and yes, they really were both rather sweaty and ripe, and while they would no doubt work up a whole new sweat later, the thought of crowding Barry against cool tile did wonders to quell the last faint traces of doubt that Len was doing the right thing allowing himself to possess this boy. 

Barry hummed again as their lips connected, tongues probing lazily, and hands struggling not to stray too far just yet. “You trust me, right?” he whispered against Len’s mouth.

“Is that a trick question?”

Barry answered with something like a deep giggle that should not be as sexy as it was, but it made Len’s cock jump. “No, just warning you before I manhandle you again. Ready?”

Len knew what Barry meant but he couldn’t resist saying, “You can handle me any ways you want, kid.”

Barry chuckled once more and they were off, whirling like lightning up the stairs and into a bathroom, where Len found himself set neatly beside the sink that he had to lean against or risk toppling over, as Barry bent to turn the water on in the tub and check the temperature before throwing on the shower. 

Catching Barry out of the shower at S.T.A.R. labs, having just missed the worst possible tease as Barry pulled his underwear up over his thighs, had been one of Len’s first tests of decency, because he’d been tempted to ravage the kid right then. Later, showering beside each other with only a thin wall and curtains between them, had been far worse, especially after catching Barry peeping on him. Len had nearly reached back and pulled him into the spray of water with him, clothes and all. 

But all fantasies and inhibitions aside, now they were here, almost a month since this whole mess began, and if Len wanted to run his hands over every inch of Barry Allen’s skin, slick with water inside his own shower, in his own home, Len wasn’t only allowed to, he was being encouraged. 

He bit his lip as Barry turned to him and made a concerted effort to go slow—something that must be more of a feat than Len gave Barry credit for most of the time—as he grasped the edges of his T-shirt and pulled it up over his head, tossing it to the floor. Barry paused as if waiting for Len to follow suit. 

Len leaned more fully against the sink. “I’m still catching my breath,” he said, and made a little twirling gesture with his hand. “Keep going.”

The flush in Barry’s cheeks spread down his neck and chest, but his grin never wavered. He toed off his shoes, pulled his socks off, then let his hands linger at his waist, holding Len’s gaze as he slid his sweats down his legs. His boxer briefs were red—of course they were red—and the tented front left nothing to the imagination. 

Len raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, and Barry’s blush darkened; he’d obviously never done a striptease before and felt self-conscious, laughing a little as he scratched at his neck. Then he seemed to find some hidden confidence, probably thinking back to how he’d made Len stammer and have to pause to get a hold of himself after the filthy things Barry had spouted, the cheeky brat, and brought the hand rubbing his neck down the front of his chest. 

He trailed it slowly, steadying his gaze on Len, and when he reached the line of his briefs, he passed right down over the bulge to give a brief squeeze that made him grunt with naked need. Barry’s expression shifted into something decidedly predatory, before he moved his hands to slide down into the waistband and pull the shorts down to join his sweats. 

Len almost dropped to his knees in placation; the kid had to know what he was doing, had to know how frustratingly erotic he could be, and was reveling in the effect he had on Len. Well, if Barry needed to feel wanted, Len could definitely provide. But if he sucked Barry’s cock into his mouth like he wanted to just now, they’d never get from the bathroom to the bedroom. 

“Get in the shower, Barry,” he ordered roughly, not caring if Barry had been hoping for a like striptease from him as he tore his shirt over his head and quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothes.

Barry looked only too pleased with himself as he obeyed, turning his backside on Len to scramble into the shower. Len was moments behind him, and reached immediately for Barry's hips as he climbed in after him, running his hands down Barry's sides, then pulling them back to grab a tight hold of his ass before sliding his hands around to the front again and palming Barry possessively. He moved in flush against Barry's back and kissed his neck. 

Barry moaned at Len's attentions as the water struck his front and rolled down his back between them. Holding Barry close like that felt too good, too fulfilling, like everything Len had ever been missing from his life.

"I'm sorry I put you through all this, Scarlet," he spoke against Barry's skin.

A brief tension rippled through Barry's shoulders. He turned in Len's hold, moving his hands around Len's waist to pull them flush together again, facing each other, and the slick connection of their cocks made Len suck in a sharp breath.

Len feared Barry was going to argue again, spout off more declarations of how wonderful Len was no matter how much he’d never believe it himself, but Barry just said, "Thank you," and claimed another kiss. 

The thing about sharing a shower with someone is, that while everything rubs a little smoother and the heat from the water is tantalizing, Len had always found that it desensitized him a little, making him last longer. Of course if Barry kept rocking his hips like that, there were no guarantees. The natural lubrication that budded between them was a much more desirable sensation to counter the friction, but the water washed that away. 

Len focused on the task of getting clean for now, at least enough to rinse the sparring from their bodies, and if it felt a little like all the pain and indecision he’d been carrying around washed away with it, well, Len wasn’t complaining 

He remembered what Barry had asked of him though with those dirty words earlier, and he had every intention of playing that out, so while they were still kissing and holding each other and rocking their hips persistently forward, Len backed them further under the spray of water. 

Barry coughed out of their kiss and laughed. “Hey!”

“How clean you wanna be before we get dirty?” Len asked gruffly, keeping Barry in place as he let one of the hands holding Barry to him slide down Barry’s ass between his cheeks, playfully teasing at what he planned to do. 

Len fingered the skin around his entrance. Barry gasped and his eyes fluttered back, as the water rolled down over his body. A vibrating shiver coursed through Barry from head to toe. Water flowed over Len’s own head as he bent toward Barry’s neck again and sucked on the spot right beneath Barry’s ear that made the most delicious noises tear out of him, simultaneously slipping his finger in and starting a gentle thrust, a knowing curl as if gesturing Barry closer. 

Water was a terrible lubricant, but one finger slid in so easily, and Barry leaned into Len at risk of otherwise falling back against the tile behind the shower head. He moaned and rocked and let his head fall back, the water seemingly cooler as their skin heated up. Len could have kept on like that for ages with the way the kid reacted, but he had better plans. 

He slid his finger free, pulled his mouth and body away, and shifted Barry closer to the wall at their right so he could better rinse off under the spray of water himself. Barry panted, flush and a little disoriented as he leaned into the wall for support. 

“Tease…” he accused Len. 

Len grinned as he turned his face into the water, letting it cascade over him, and then turned beneath the spray to rinse down his back, peering at Barry who was now at his left. “You forget who I am, Scarlet. I live to taunt you.” 

Barry was wedged in beside Len’s shoulder. There wasn’t much space for two grown men to fully stand without touching, so when Len glanced at him, Barry leaned forward to catch his lips, not kissing so much as nipping at Len’s bottom lip and then lapping at it with his tongue. He snuck a hand around to Len’s cock and took hold, causing Len to inhale sharply. 

“I like a little taunting,” Barry whispered between them, “but you should know…I can give just as good back.” He squeezed Len just shy of too tight, forcing a gasp Len couldn’t contain, and Barry looked so pleased by that, so wonderfully wicked. “I think I’m ready to get dirty now. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me since that first night. In fact, last night…I fingered myself thinking about you…imagining it was you and all the different ways—” 

“Oh god, just stop,” Len kissed Barry to silence him, because desensitized from the hot water or not, he was certain he could come just from hearing Barry talk like that. He grunted when he pulled away, because Barry had yet to release his cock and was slowly twisting his fingers. “Shower time’s over,” Len ordered as he pushed Barry back from him, finally dislodging the kid’s hand, and turned to step out of the shower and then bodily haul Barry if necessary into the nearest bedroom. 

Thankfully, Barry was all for this idea, and before Len had even fully registered that the kid had once again told him to, “Hold on,” he heard the water turn off and felt a flurry of movement, not even having set his foot on the bath mat yet. 

Len was out of the shower, dried, and zipped from the bathroom in seconds. He only caught his breath when he felt a now closed door at his back as Barry slammed him up against it. Finally, a bedroom. It thoroughly amused Len that despite all the times they had kissed, and even having gone significantly further before, this was the first time they’d managed a bedroom. 

Barry’s natural smell, freshly showered but without any soap to spoil it, was intoxicating. That tinge of copper from the lightning and leather from the suit never seeming to leave Barry’s natural musk. Len would happily drown in it, and loved being surrounded by it now as Barry held him in place with his body, both hands braced on the door on either side of Len’s head. 

They kissed and rocked again, precum forming up quickly despite the shower, making the slide of their cocks slicker, tantalizing with how much it promised of what was to come. It was difficult to do anything but thrust against Barry’s hip. Len was caged against the door, wanton beneath Barry’s power, and he loved every minute of it. 

He almost hated to ask, but he felt someone should be the responsible one. “Do you…have a condom?”

Barry pushed himself back from Len with his hands still planted on the door. His darkened eyes cleared with a slight frown. “I do, but…is it a must for you, because…I was sort of thinking we wouldn’t use one.”

Len couldn’t hide his scowl; was the kid actually admitting he didn’t practice safe sex, because that seemed a little negligent for a super hero. 

“I’ve always used a condom with others!” Barry assured him, catching the reason for Len’s changed demeanor, and thankfully proving he wasn’t that much of an idiot. “And of course we can, it’s just…I’m clean and sort of impervious to any kind of illness now anyway, and I don’t plan to be with anyone else, so…” He looked adorably dejected now after his power-bottom routine. 

Len instantly melted. He pushed aside how much he’d always ingrained in himself the need to be smart about sex, especially when his partners were often one time experiences, and considered Barry’s logic. Len was clean too and hadn’t had any partners in some time, and he certainly didn’t want anyone other than Barry for the foreseeable future. 

“Okay,” he said, “then we better get to it, because I plan to make good on that promise of what you want me to do with my tongue.” He licked his lips once suggestively, slowly, then kissed Barry again before pushing him back from the door with a hard shove. 

Barry stumbled away with a startled, dopey expression that fell into mad grinning. He backed toward the bed. “How do you want me?” he asked brazenly. 

Len considered his options. It would be easier with Barry on his front, but Len wanted to see the kid’s face while he did this. “On your back.”

Barry zipped around the bed, tossing the covers aside until only the sheets remained, then spread out on top of it propped up a little on his elbows in wait for Len, his legs bent and spread to welcome him in. 

Oh, the eagerness of youth, Len snickered to himself as he crawled up from the foot of the bed. He slid his hands up Barry’s legs and the inside of his thighs as he went, spreading them further apart as he settled in between them. He hooked Barry under the knees and rolled him back, no restraint at all as he bent to lick a wet stripe up Barry’s length. 

“Ah…” Barry moaned so beautifully, so easily folded and flexible, his hazel eyes hazy with lust as he said, “Yeah…get me wet for you…”

Len’s brain short-circuited again; he was never going to get used to Barry talking like that, and he knew now that the kid had no intention of stopping. It was infuriating because it was so unfairly hot, and Len was not used to being tripped up in the bedroom. So he tried to fight fire with fire. “Oh I will…but I hope you have something more than just me for when I fuck you.”

Barry bit his lip and nodded with a head tilt toward the end table. It only had one drawer, so Len understood. He could go for that soon enough. 

For now Len bent his head once more, licked up Barry’s cock again, but didn’t linger, didn’t give the kid the satisfaction of such direct attention just yet. He licked down between his balls instead, and the closer he got to Barry’s entrance, the more the kid’s cock twitched and hardened above him. 

Barry’s arms spread out beside him and he pressed his head into the mattress with a loud keen when Len flicked his tongue right where he’d promised to go. There was hardly any resistance as Len plunged in, just the tip of his tongue to start, Barry already so open from the meager attentions in the shower. He had remarkable control over his body, which shouldn’t come as any surprise. His mouth, on the other hand…

“Oh god…oh fuck…” Barry muttered, his panting more labored with every closer, deeper thrust of Len’s tongue, until he licked his way in unabashedly and Barry stammered a stream of gibberish and bit his fist. 

Len flicked his eyes up, caught the way Barry’s cheeks were flush, his eyes clenched tight now, his mouth hanging open with silent pleading when his hand fell away. It was sinful—glorious. Len pulled out and thrust his tongue in again. Barry whimpered. Again. Barry pounded the mattress with a fist. Again. 

“Oh god, I want your cock,” Barry said feverishly, eyes springing open with what Len was certain was actual lightning dancing in them as his hands and arms started to vibrate like he couldn’t contain himself any longer. Barry looked at him in the most gorgeously needy way. “Right now…I want to sit on your cock, take you in so deep, and ride you until the bed buckles.”

Len pulled his tongue away and moaned just from the visual of that, and from hearing it detailed in Barry’s filthy voice. He lifted Barry’s leg over him so he could go for the drawer, quickly finding what he wanted and pulling out the bottle. Before he could settle back in to stretch Barry further, he suddenly found himself flipped, the bed beneath his back and Barry straddling his waist, with the bottle in his hands now instead. 

Barry grinned at him with more impishness than Len had ever seen from the kid, all reservations and nervousness gone, riding high on how good this felt and how easy it was to make Len speechless. His swollen cock twitched on Len’s stomach, as another set of vibrations rippled through him, this time from his thighs. 

Actually being inside Barry was going to be the death of him, Len realized. 

Barry poured a liberal amount of lube into his palm, setting the bottle off to the side and then reaching back to take Len in hand, coating him with the silky substance that made Len hiss because his skin was already so hot and he was more than ready for this. Barry pumped him a few times, his strokes tight, unforgiving, and then he lifted himself ready to sit back. 

Len reached for Barry’s hips, concern flitting through his eyes that Barry might not be prepared enough, which Barry noticed and dismissed with a laugh. 

“I can take it. We’ll go slow,” he said, and paused his descent a moment to lean forward and kiss Len’s lips firmly before saying, “You don’t even know how many times I’ve gotten off thinking about you besides last night. I’m ready. I want you to fuck me.” And with a sparkle in his darkened, hazel eyes, he sat back, guiding Len in carefully with a steady hand. 

The first push in was blindingly hot for Len, in every way. It had been so long, and he’d never imagined things going down like this with his nemesis, never would have dreamed he’d be here now looking ahead a month ago. Never could have hoped to be this happy. 

Barry took him in slow, as promised, and it was sweet agony for them both. Len could see the strain in Barry’s face, wanting to succumb to his speed, but holding back. When he finally seated himself fully on Len, the lightning returned to his eyes and the hands that moved to rest on Len’s chest shook at blurring speed. 

Len squeezed the sides of Barry’s hips in his grasp, amazed at this man in so many different ways, but especially in that he wanted him—Len—and all his broken pieces. 

When Barry first rocked forward and back again, Len sighed into how good it felt—the tight heat, the deep connection. Barry rocked again, and a litany of obscene noises left him to drown out any moans of Len’s. Barry gave a few more slow, insanely slow motions forward and back, forward and back, taking Len in as deep as he’d said he would each time, before his speed started to increase. 

Still, the rhythm was normal at first, not Flash speed by any means, which Len was thankful for because he didn’t know if he could handle that just yet. But then Barry had to go and open his mouth. 

“Oh god, you feel so good…I knew you would…like you were made to be inside me…”

Len reached for Barry’s cock on his stomach and stroked it rapidly.

“Fuck, yeah…yeah…I couldn’t even look at your hands these past three weeks without picturing how they’d looked on my cock…”

He wouldn’t stop, no matter how Len jerked him or thrust up harder into Barry’s rocking, it just seemed to spur Barry on, and Len couldn’t compute how to respond, just grunted occasional agreements and “Barry” or “Scarlet” and at one point, “Shit, kid, that mouth…”

Which of course prompted Barry to respond with, “You can make better use of my mouth any time you want.”

Len had to laugh, it was too insane, too fucking hot and crazy that innocent Barry Allen was not so innocent at all. He still rambled, just with dirty promises and exclamations of praise, and it reminded Len so much of Barry’s normal rambling, as if now that it was turned on, Barry had no control over himself. Only that wasn’t true, because the kid definitely knew exactly what he was doing to Len. 

He rocked forward to capture Len’s lips briefly, then sat up straighter to move with purpose, timing his motions to match Len’s strokes on his cock. And while his thrusts were a fast but manageable pace, he looked down at Len mischievously before that spark of lightning was in his eyes again, just a brief warning before Len felt Barry—every part of him—speed up until he pulsed with vibrations. 

Len moaned, his mind blank and his hand stilling on Barry’s cock as he literally was incapable of anything for a moment other than taking in the sensation of what was happening to his body at the will of The Flash. 

He felt his orgasm building from a long way off, never having experienced anything quite like this as Barry’s whole body buzzed and blurred atop him even as he still rocked Len in and out of himself so deeply that Len felt consumed, and couldn’t even warn Barry that he was coming with anything more than a choked sob and squeeze of Barry’s hips. 

He was pretty sure he laid there in a stupor for several moments before he came back to himself at the sound of Barry chuckling. The kid’s image stilled, the vibrations ceasing, but Barry didn’t halt his rocking as he was still deriving plenty of pleasure from it even if Len had finished, and Barry’s cock now sat neglected. 

Len took Barry in hand again and gripped as firm as he could, but instead of the fast pumps Barry might have expected, Len went slow…so slow…passing his thumb over Barry’s slit languidly and feathering his fingers down the sides. 

“Len…” Barry complained, his face scrunched with how close he had to be to coming. 

“I thought you liked being teased…” Len mocked him, though in all honesty he wanted Barry to finish soon, because his own cock was wilting and feeling over-sensitized to take much more of Barry’s rocking. So Len gave another slow but tight pass of his hand over Barry’s cock, said, “Next time, you’re fucking _me_. Thinking of the way you move keeps me up at night, Scarlet,” and then stroked at the fastest speed he could manage until Barry came with a cry. 

Served the kid right. 

Len collapsed back with a deep exhale as Barry shuddered atop him, vibrating once more just subtly throughout his body as he often did when finishing, as Len was learning, and slumped forward onto Len’s chest. 

“Did you…really mean that?” Barry asked, breathless, glancing up at Len coyly. “Because absolutely yes, please, I just…didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Len snorted, squeezing Barry’s hips again. He loved the way Barry felt beneath his hands, atop him, and all around him. “Think you know me so well, huh?” He really wanted to get Barry back for all the dirty talk. He smirked. “Coz when I think of your cock inside me, Scarlet…vibrating like that…I’m hard pressed not to beg you to bend me over every hard surface in the labs.”

The renewed moan from Barry came out more like a long whine. He smacked Len’s chest playfully. “You’re mean.”

“You started it.”

“And you loved every second of it.”

“I did…” Len said, his heart fluttering in his chest from so much more than arousal as he looked up at Barry, at this remarkable man above him, half sitting up now, his hands on Len’s chest to support him, and looking so wrecked, hair tousled, and pupils still mostly blown. It was sexy as hell, yes, but that wasn’t what amazed Len. “I do,” he said more assuredly, reaching up with both hands to grasp Barry’s face. He didn’t let the surprised, curious look Barry shot him detour him in the slightest, because he had to say this. “I love you.”

All the remaining heat and confidence drained out of Barry’s expression. “What?” he said like a breath, his own hand coming up to press to Len’s on his face. “You…do? Really?”

It killed Len how honestly disbelieving Barry sounded. He nodded. “Really.”

Barry’s lips were on his so quickly, Len couldn’t be sure if it happened at normal speed or not, but it felt so good just to kiss Barry, and to be the one who could make him happy enough to offer it with so much unabashed passion. Len would never be able to thank Cisco enough. 

A shaky breath left Barry when he pulled up, face still hovering close to Len’s as he said, “Me too,” deliberate and adoring. “I mean…it happened so fast, but I do everything fast, and it just felt so good to want someone who actually wanted me back and…” he seemed to choke, lose his words, but pulled up a little further as he took another breath and stared more directly into Len’s eyes. “I love you.”

Len hadn’t realized he’d been on bated breath waiting to actually hear the words said back to him, but as they formed on Barry’s lips, his chest seemed to swell like it might burst open. Cisco had implied as much, that Barry wanted nothing more than to love him, but Len hadn’t really been able to believe it until he heard it. 

He loved Barry. And Barry loved him. And it was all too insane to believe sometimes, but damn it, Len never wanted to let this moment go, because he’d almost missed it, almost let it pass him by like so many other opportunities in his life to have something better than what he thought he could strive for. 

Somehow having this remarkable, adorable, sweet and also clearly quite wicked boy love him, honestly was the only thing he’d ever ask for of a new beginning. He had so much more than just that, but Barry made it all worth it. 

Len kissed Barry again, their hands twined as he held Barry’s face. It wasn’t heated and deep the way they’d kissed leading up to now, but soft, and sweet, and tender. Len could say with certainty that he had never kissed anyone like this, with emotion that deep, wanting nothing more than for this man atop him to be happy for as long as he could make him. 

But then he started to feel the mess between them a little more acutely as the thrill of the moment faded to something more manageable. He grimaced a little as they parted, a few added kisses from Barry peppering him like the kid couldn’t stop touching their lips together. 

Len chuckled at how wonderfully insatiable Barry was. “Okay, kid…but now I’m starting to feel the need to get cleaned up.”

Barry laughed with him, his hazel eyes dancing as he grinned down at Len. “I got it,” he said, and before Len could question that, Barry was gone. 

The sensation that feathered over Len’s body reminded him, he realized with a jolt, of that first night, when Barry had given him that all over check-up, touching him at super speed for additional injuries. It left him just as tingling and breathless this time, no doubt more pronounced because of how hypersensitive his skin was after their amorous activities.

A moment later, Barry was snuggled into his side. Len tugged him close then shivered as his heated skin began to cool in the aftermath. 

“Grab the blanket, huh? I don’t think I’m going to be capable of moving for a while.” 

Barry offered that husky giggle of his, which made Len almost think he could feel a twitch of renewed arousal—almost. Barry flashed the comforter over them and snuggled in close again like a burrowing cat, his whole body pressed up against Len’s side, head at Len’s shoulder as he held him. Len didn’t mind that Barry was a snuggler. He was too if he was being honest, he’d just rarely had anyone beside him that he wanted to keep close. 

Len could feel the need to nap calling, to just close his eyes and get a few winks in, even though his stomach was starting to remind him of the need to eat after their quite nicely doubled workout. So he closed his eyes, but when he felt Barry shift beside him and sit up to look down at him, he opened them again, surprised and a little concerned to see dampness though not quite tears in Barry’s eyes as he opened his mouth and faltered several times before finding whatever words he was trying to say. What could possibly be harder than ‘I love you’?

But Len understood when he finally heard the words, because Barry choked on them a little as he said, “I’m glad you’re here,” just like he had the night they shared on the sofa in S.T.A.R. Labs, before Len had thrown it all away and left Barry alone in the light of day.

The only thing Len could say in reply was the truth, “Me too,” his own echo of that night as he reached for Barry’s face again and kissed him gently, but this time the words left him without any of the pain or haunting uncertainty of what was to come, what he’d thought he needed to do, because this time…this time, if they succumbed to the call of sleep, Len would still be at Barry’s side when they woke up.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying, you're crying!
> 
> Okay, but seriously, guys, I can't believe we're nearly at the end. There is one more chapter to this, and then it is over - but as I've been saying, I plan to create a companion epilogue of various one-shots of things happening in the aftermath, the first of which will be Oliver and Felicity coming for a visit, because I'm evil like that. I think I'll have it as a separate fic, but connected as part of the Out Cold series. Yeah... So if you have thoughts on things you'd like to see, let me know! 
> 
> You have all been so amazing, and inspiring, and wow, what a ride we've been on together. More soon!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'morning' after, and the road to being domesticated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order some fluff? Because this is nothing but!

Barry roused to the sound of deep, gentle laughter vibrating back through his chest. He had his arms wrapped tightly around someone, and that was a nice change; Barry didn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with someone in his arms. Whoever it was had a powerful frame, thin but muscled with strong hands that gripped Barry’s arms that were holding close to the other man’s waist.

Len… Barry thought with a groggy sigh of pleasure, snuggling his nose deeper into the short fuzz of hair at the back of Len’s head. He breathed in and Len smelled like clean skin with the faint musky aftereffect of sex. Oh that was a lovely scent, and the feel of Len in his arms so comfortable, the line of Barry’s chest flush to Len’s back, their hips connected, and “Mmm…” he hummed aloud, if Barry pressed forward just slightly he could feel the curve of Len’s ass against his—

“Barry…” Len chuckled again, his voice soft in the quiet room, amused and chiding. “Come on, kid…we’ve been out for almost an hour, and your stomach woke me up about five minutes ago. I think I better feed you before we make any plans to go again.”

As if on cue, Barry’s stomach gave a fresh growl, and he felt that awful, nauseous, room tilting sensation that was really unfair to experience when you were already lying down. No wonder he’d fallen asleep. He needed calories pronto.

Barry blinked to wake himself more fully, waiting for the room to focus, and saw the smooth line of Len’s jaw first, as he continued to cling to the other man, holding him tight against him. He was so cozy and warm beneath the comforter with Len like this, on his bed, in his room, after all the wicked things they’d done to each other. Barry was particularly proud of all the times he’d rendered Len speechless.

He hummed again and snuggled Len to him. “This is the best way to wake up…ever. Except for the starving part. Urg…you may need to carry me downstairs.”

Len laughed a little more loudly this time. Feeling the sensation while hearing its pleasant rumble felt so good. Barry kissed the back of Len’s neck then allowed Len to turn over, shifting in his arms until he faced Barry. Barry was overwhelmed with how young Len could look sometimes—like, seriously, he couldn’t actually be as old as Barry knew him to be. Len’s blue eyes were half-lidded and looked at Barry with the same tender affection Barry was feeling. 

In an instant Barry felt so…loved, he found himself grinning madly like he’d never stop. He had waited so long for someone to look at him like this.

Len shifted closer, and Barry reached a hand to his cheek, around the curve of his ear, and pulled him toward him until their lips met. It was lazy and slow, just their mouths touching, and then gently prodding tongues, and oh how Barry wanted to pull Len against him and kiss like this for hours, touching every spare inch of skin along Len’s body…but he really needed to eat something, and he probably had some sort of responsibilities to attend to today. He honestly couldn’t remember. He’d only really cared about the sparring when he woke up that morning.

His stomach gave another churning, loud grumble, and Barry groaned out of their embrace, rolling onto his back away from Len so he could steady himself. He had some power bars for emergencies in his dresser. He pointed at it mostly ineffectually, at first still caught under the covers, and then managed to free it and point again. 

“Can you...grab one of the bars from my top drawer to tide me over?” he asked Len, feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole thing, but Len was still smiling at him, and that made everything better. Barry glanced sideways at him. “Then we can totally have real lunch, I promise.”

A snort left Len as he shook his head in mild exasperation, and then hauled himself up, tossing the covers aside and crossing Barry’s room to the taller dresser against the wall. It was such a nice sight to witness, the swagger of Len’s steps across Barry’s bedroom—naked. 

He had the most perfectly chiseled back, dusted with scars but otherwise so flawless. He may as well have been sculpted by an artist, Barry decided. He might have hunger-brain, but he definitely liked the idea of hoarding away naughty photographs of Len—not even naughty necessarily, just tasteful nudes of Len’s lean form lounging stretched out across a bed or any surface really for him to ogle whenever they were apart. 

Shit, he really was hungry…

Barry managed to tear his eyes from Len’s ass just as the other man turned around to toss a power bar at him. He easily caught it and then looked up gratefully—grateful for the snack and the new view with Len facing him. Because wow, his hips had the most defined grooves Barry had ever seen on a live person, so unfairly sexy, especially considering what they pointed to. Barry shifted on the bed at the sight, which of course caused Len to smirk. 

He downed the power bar at Flash speed, mostly to get it over with; they did not taste good, but were solely for those moments when he didn’t have time to eat his fair share and needed a boost. He grimaced as he finished it and tossed the wrapper onto his nightstand, before pulling himself from the bed feeling at least less like he might pass out though still starved.

“Lunch,” Barry said, looking around the room for their clothes, before remembering that they had been left in the bathroom, and really, Barry didn’t mind; he didn't want to get back into dirty clothes. He doubted Len did either. “You can borrow some of my clothes if you want?” he said as he glanced back at Len, who was moving toward him from across the room slowly but deliberate. 

When they met at the side of the bed, Len didn’t pause but slid his arms around Barry’s neck and pulled him in for a slow, sensual kiss. It was nice, heated, but also comfortable, leaving Barry feeling satiated even without the promise to go further. They could come back to that soon enough—very soon, Barry hoped.

Most of him was just happy he had woken up to find Len still with him.

Len tried to pull away, but Barry hung on and encircled Len’s waist with his arms as he stole another kiss. He just wanted one more—for the road, he thought with an internal giggle—but as Len laughed lightly against his lips and kissed back gladly, he snuck a hand up into Barry’s hair, grasped several of the strands, and tugged.

Barry moaned out of the kiss. He’d forgotten about that. He’d never used to like hair pulling, he didn’t think he had, but the sensitive nerves of his changed body seemed to react differently to all sorts of stimuli. They’d have to experiment with that. Definitely. 

To counter, Barry reached down and grabbed a handful of Len’s ass. Len moaned in kind. Then Barry’s stomach grumbled again and they both laughed. 

“Later,” Len said as he broke from their embrace. “And yes, please, I’ll take whatever clothes you can spare, unless you’d prefer I walk around like this.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Barry licked his lips as he took in one last good look of Leonard Snart naked in his bedroom. “Don’t tempt me, because if this wasn’t Joe’s house, the answer would always be yes.” 

He turned for his closet to choose a few things as Len laughed, something comfortable preferably since it was the weekend. He grabbed another T-shirt for himself, but chose a long-sleeved black shirt for Len. He slipped on a pair of jeans, but since he was more slender of build and had longer legs, Len didn’t think his jeans would fit him, so Barry handed him an extra pair of grey S.T.A.R. Labs sweatpants instead. The sweats did hug the curves of Len’s ass nicely, and their slight difference in build meant that Barry’s black shirt stretched tightly over Len’s chest.

“Let’s see what actual food we have in the house,” Barry said as he threw open his door, kind of loving this lazy day feel, especially since they had both been plenty productive earlier.

“I’ll throw our dirty clothes in the wash. Wouldn’t want to leave it all strewn over the bathroom floor, now would we?” Len offered, turning toward the bathroom instead of the stairs.

Barry stared after him. “Sure—I mean, right!” He was a little thrown by this domestic sense of responsibility. “The washer and drier are right—”

“Beside the bathroom. I saw them.” Len waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder.

Barry felt a renewed sense of love for the man as he watched Len disappear into the bathroom. It all just felt so normal, so comfortable, so much like being…boyfriends, Barry supposed, like an average dating couple, not like The Flash and Captain Cold, just…Barry and Len, going about a mundane day in their lives. There was something so strangely freeing about that.

Humming pleasantly to himself, Barry bounded down the stairs, trying to think of what else they could do to spend the rest of their Saturday, assuming Len didn’t need to leave for any reason, and Barry was pretty sure he didn’t remember having any—

“Hey, Barr, back from the labs already?”

Barry nearly tripped on the last step and face planted into the wall. He gripped the end of the banister as he spun to see Joe going through mail at the table behind the sofa. “Joe!” he squeaked. “I…yes. I am. Hi. You’re back.”

Joe chuckled, apparently amused at Barry’s familiar rambling. “You forgot, didn’t you? I only had to run to the station for a bit. Iris and Eddie are coming over for lunch and to watch the game. I need to change and get your help in the kitchen. I was just about to call and see if you’d finished up yet and were on your way home.” 

“Tacos,” Barry said as he remembered Joe mentioning something about that last night, when he was exhausted and frazzled and had eventually tumbled into bed—and then locked his door for other activities before bed, he tried so hard not to remind himself. The information had fallen right out of his head, but as it came back to him now, he realized the dangerous situation developing. “Right!” he said more brightly, pulling on a smile, still hovering at the base of the stairs so he could wave Len away as soon as he caught sight of him. “You need my mad chopping skills.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you to pick up anything.” Joe shook his head and tossed the rest of the mail on the table to worry about later. “Anything come up at the labs? You seem distracted. Or just hungry?” 

Oh, something definitely came up at the labs, Barry thought deviously, but refrained from actually smirking. Len would be down soon; he had to think fast. “I’m starving actually. I may need to kill a bag of chips before lunch. But I’m fine, nothing…nothing bad happened at the labs, just a busy morning, you know. Let me just, uhh…” he edged back up the stairs, hoping to intercept Len, maybe flash him out of the house before anyone noticed, “grab my phone! Yes, that I left upstairs, and I’ll…”

“Okay, Scarlet, all set,” Len called down the stairs before his appearance as he uncaringly came down to join Barry, then stopped short halfway as he realized Barry was standing there with wide pleading eyes. “Why are you still at the bottom of the…” he trailed as his gaze darted over the banister to where Joe stood looking up at him.

“Snart,” Joe said with the usual touch of venom in his greeting, as well as mild surprise as he glanced to Barry and then back up at Len.

“Detective,” Len greeted back, more slowly descending the remaining steps until he was parallel with Barry, though they lingered together on the landing. Len looked at Joe and back at Barry with a grimace. “We…”

“If that’s a lie you’re about to spout, you can save it,” Joe cut Len off, a sigh in his voice and defeated sort of slump to his shoulders. 

Barry didn’t know what to say to fix this insanely awkward moment, but it wasn’t as if Joe didn’t know about Barry’s feelings for Len. Barry had actually made it plain to Joe a couple of times over the past few weeks that yes, he really did intend to pursue Len, and was it really so bad when it was clear now that they could all work together toward the same very legal goals? 

Actually having Len in the house, wearing Barry’s clothes, coming down from upstairs where there was no doubt about what had gone on between them was vastly different, however, from grudgingly telling Barry that the only thing he wanted was for him to be happy.

But that was still a very true sentiment, Barry knew, especially when Joe’s expression softened and he looked at Len a little more steadily. 

“So...would you like to stay for lunch?” he asked without another moment’s hesitation. “I can never guarantee enough food with Barry around, but I think we can manage.”

Barry could have hugged Joe just then. He would later, just envelop his father when he least expected it, because giving even mild approval of your adopted son dating a former criminal was definitely Father of the Year material. Barry looked to Len expectantly, hopefully, because he really didn’t want to have to part ways just yet, and this was a huge gesture on Joe’s part. 

Len looked as startled as he had when he first noticed Joe downstairs and took an extra second to recover. He met Barry’s hopeful gaze though and smiled before turning back to Joe. “If you’re offering…I’d love to. Need any extra hands in the kitchen?”

“Barry can put you to work,” Joe nodded, a reluctant but inevitable smile on his face, because well, Barry was beaming now, and Barry knew firsthand that his father could not resist seeing him happy. Len couldn’t either. “I hope you’re a Diamonds fan,” Joe added as he moved toward the stairs, and Barry pulled Len along with him away from the landing so they could let Joe up past them to go change out of his work clothes. “We’ll be watching the game.”

“Not to worry, Detective, I’m a big supporter of all our local teams,” Len said before shrugging and offering a sly grin, “though to be honest, I’m hoping the Cubs take this one.”

Joe groaned, but he was smiling almost easily now—far easier than Barry would have expected. “Now you’re just trying to upset me,” he said as he headed up the stairs. “Get things started in the kitchen, will ya, Barr? I’ll be right back down.”

“Sure thing, Joe!” Barry called after him. He looked to Len again and could almost feel his cheeks starting to hurt with how widely he was smiling. “Sorry, I forgot we were having Iris and Eddie over for the game. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

Len chuckled at him in bemusement. "I'll bet.”

They headed toward the kitchen, and Barry couldn’t deny that he loved the way Len so naturally touched a hand to his back as they moved through the house, just a light, tender connection. It made Barry shiver.

Barry got the supplies they’d need from the fridge and told Len to start browning the hamburger while he moved the vegetables to the kitchen table. He liked to have extra space to set up the cutting board, so he was out of range of slicing anyone’s fingers while he sped through dicing everything. He was done with all of the various vegetables neatly separated into bowls before Len had even finished breaking the meat up with a wooden spoon. 

He looked so adorably domestic at the stove in Barry’s shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare, swaying slightly as if there was a song in his head. Barry snuck up behind him and kissed the back of his neck, just a small passing peck so as not to be in any compromising position when Joe returned, and reached over to turn on the radio. Len smirked over at him. 

_I'm tripping on words_  
_You got my head spinning_  
_I don't know where to go from here_

Barry hadn’t heard this song in ages, but as the familiar chorus played, he hummed along.

_'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do, nothing to lose_  
_And it's you and me and all of the people_  
_And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_

He definitely caught Len humming with him as he pulled the tortillas and taco shells out, and grabbed a block of cheese for the grater. Then there was laughter and voices at the door as Iris and Eddie let themselves in. Barry decided he’d just enjoy this when Len raised an eyebrow at him for a cue as to how to react. No one had been on the receiving end of Barry’s equal gushing and complaining about Len as much as those two; they’d play things—Barry snickered to himself—cool.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Barry called out.

He sped through grating the cheese and had that in a bowl on the table with the vegetables by the time Iris and Eddie came through the door carrying a couple of six packs.

“Oh!” Iris exclaimed when she saw Len at the stove, surprise and then a mischievous twinkle sparkling in her eyes as she glanced at Barry. “Snart. We didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

“Hello again.” Len looked over his shoulder with a cordial smile. “There was a change of plans. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Iris said, moving swiftly for the fridge to deposit the beer, and leaving Eddie to stand a little awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Does Joe know about this?” Eddie said bluntly, but seemed to realize his lack of tact when Iris glared at him. “I just mean—”

“He’s upstairs changing,” Barry saved his friend, unable to banish the smile from his face. “He invited Len.”

Eddie blanched a moment, knowing only too well how difficult it was to earn the approval of Joe West, though this was a slightly different situation. He didn’t show any sign of jealousy though that Len had managed to wrangle a spot at family dinner in a shorter span than he had, just fell into a genuine smile for Barry’s sake. “That’s fantastic. Diamonds or Cubs fan?”

“Cubs,” Len said simply.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Iris snickered, automatically moving to take over her usual job of heating the shells and tortillas, and placing an unabashed hand on Len’s shoulder as she moved past him. “Eddie’s a Cubs fan too.”

“You don’t say,” Len stirred the meat a moment more, then turned to face the kitchen. He crossed his arms and glanced from Barry at the table to Iris prepping the microwave. “Joe must be so disappointed in you both.” 

“For bringing blasphemers into this house?” Joe called as he entered briskly, dressed casually now with his black beanie pulled over his head. Everyone laughed at the teasing tone in Joe's voice. He crossed to snatch one of his own cold beers from the fridge and turned with a ready smile. “Nah, not too bad. But you better not be a Rangers fan too. I don't think I could handle that."

"Oh no," Len held up his hands, "when it comes to hockey, I am solely devoted to my home town."

Joe nodded. "We'll redeem you yet, Snart. Beer?"

“Thanks.”

Joe handed his own off to Eddie, got one for Len, then went back for one for himself and Iris. Barry didn’t even feel left out this time. He’d never imagined the day would turn out like this when he’d first headed off to the labs to spar with Len. 

He reached back into the pantry, grabbed up a fresh bag of tortilla chips, and shoveled a few into his mouth while the kitchen continued to bustle with activity as everyone moved around to finish helping get everything laid out on the table. They’d make their tacos in the kitchen but eat out on the sofa to watch the game. Eddie even helped Len track down the seasoning for the meat, and they started talking Cubs players. Barry hadn’t known the Cubs were Len’s favorite team, but he’d known for some time that it was Eddie’s. Joe never let him live it down. Now at least he had some backup. 

Barry admired the line of Len’s body as he stood there at the stove, but it was far more than just lust that stirred in him whenever he looked at Len. He hummed to himself, having almost forgotten that the radio was still on as the song faded out. 

_'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do, nothing to lose_  
_And it's you and me and all of the people_  
_And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_

“Barry,” Iris whispered in passing, pointing at Len and Eddie, “are those your clothes? Because that is not what he was wearing when we saw him at Jitters this morning.”

Barry felt himself blush, and tried to laugh it off as he scratched the back of his head. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing we came downstairs when we did, or this could have been a whole lot more awkward.” 

Iris snorted and smacked him playfully in the chest. 

When Joe caught Barry a bit later, after they’d eaten and were up for the seventh inning stretch, his aside was more subdued, but there was no malice in his eyes when he said, “Just be careful, Barry.” 

Barry expected that much from Joe, and that was fine. He’d be disappointed if either of his fathers ever stopped worrying about him. So he just reassured Joe, “I know,” even if he doubted he’d ever be able to be anything but head over heels and in too deep when it came to Leonard Snart.

Joe cast an unreadable glance at Len on the sofa beside Iris, laughing at something Eddie had said. There had always been a slight tension whenever Barry saw them around Len these past few weeks, not that there had been any lengthy encounters, but suddenly things didn’t seem so strange. Maybe Iris and Eddie had just been waiting for Len to get his head out of his ass before they passed approval. And Len, well…relaxed like this, unguarded, he always reminded Barry of the sweet man he’d met who for a time hadn’t even known his name. 

“As long as you’re happy, Barr,” Joe said, squeezing his shoulder. 

All Barry could do was smile. Because he really, really was.

XXXXX

There was nothing quite as surreal as having a family afternoon. Family dinners, a gathering to watch the game, good times and laughter—these were things Len had only ever known with his sister and Mick, and even then there was always an edge to everything, nothing as homespun normal as the West household. But while it had felt strange initially, Len had been able to relax rather quickly, if only because Barry looked so happy to have him there. 

It became a regular thing after that—any time Barry had family dinner with Joe and Iris, since Eddie was always invited along, so was Len. He made a point never to miss it. 

Eventually, there were nights that Iris dubbed ‘extended family dinners’, because all of Team ColdFlash was invited—Len had finally accepted that the name was never going away—even including Professor Stein and his wife. There wasn’t quite enough room in the West house for everyone, so it often ended up being hosted at Stein’s, or just in the labs. It wasn’t often everyone could get together, but that’s why they made the effort. Saving the city, and maybe the world on occasion, meant they deserved a break whenever they could get it. 

If he was being honest, Len felt more comfortable at S.T.A.R. Labs, sitting on one of the tables having a heated discussion with Cisco, who lounged back in one of the roller chairs with his arms crossed defiantly, than he could ever imagine feeling tinkering alone with his cold gun in a safe house. 

“What are you trying to convince me of here, kid?” Len said, smirking amusedly. “Because I think most true Trekkie’s would agree that DeForest Kelley was a national treasure.”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” Cisco defended, “I’m just saying you can’t dismiss how awesome Karl Urban is in the role. He channeled Kelley with an even more expressive face for just how done he was with all of Kirk’s shit. He totally reinvigorated my love for Bones!”

“For Leonard McCoy,” Len reiterated, which he always had to do whenever Cisco said Bones, because it was a point of pride now.

“Doctor McCoy, but if you want me to start calling you Leonard, I totally will,” Cisco threatened. 

Len glowered at him. 

“Well, Urban is nicer to look at,” Lisa said as she breezed into the room helping Caitlin with—something. Len wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing because he’d gotten caught up in his discussion with Cisco.

Cisco gestured after Lisa as if to say, see? Then scowled and pulled his arm back. “Wait, that’s not the point I was trying to make…”

Lisa snickered. 

“He is though,” Len had to agree, which only made Cisco scowl harder, even though it technically gave point to his side of the argument. “But Kelley…that beard and cream jumpsuit pretty much trumps everything.”

“Urg,” Cisco groaned. “Don’t talk to me about The Motion Picture, okay, once was enough to watch a slow ten minute pan of The Enterprise. I love The Enterprise, I have scale models and plush toys of The Enterprise, and that was too drawn out for me.”

“So Into Darkness? You want to talk about Into Darkness?”

“It wasn’t that bad…and Urban still stole every scene he was in.”

“So did Kelley, even in Star Trek V.”

They had a moment of silence for the sheer atrocity that was The Final Frontier.

Lisa giggled at them again as she walked back through with Caitlin from the other way, this time with their arms full. “Oh, you boys,” Lisa said, “can’t you just agree that they are equally wonderful actors who played the same role superbly, with Urban having a slight leg up by being such a fine piece of ass? Though to be honest, he’s a little too tall for me…” she said a little leadingly, and winked at Cisco as she moved back out of the room. 

That was Len’s sister; she could turn any conversation into an excuse to flirt. It worked too, because Cisco’s jaw went slack as he blushed and grinned after her, completely forgetting his train of thought until Len moved into his line of sight with a raised eyebrow. 

“Undiscovered Country does not get enough love,” Cisco conceded. 

“Thank you,” Len said. “And the first reboot film was spectacular. Made me feel like a kid again. We should watch it sometime. With Lisa.”

“And Barry?” Cisco picked up on where Len was going with this. 

“He hasn’t seen the original films. We’re starting from square one.”

Cisco grimaced. “Call me after you get through The Motion Picture, and we’ll talk.”

“Hey, where’d those two go?” Mick’s gruff voice broke into the room. He stood at the entrance behind Len, his fire gun held limply, with his newer gear on that Cisco had made much more satisfactorily flame retardant than it had been before. 

“I think they were loading equipment into the elevator,” Cisco said, “probably just missed them. But don’t worry, Ronnie and the professor aren’t here yet.”

Mick nodded. Now Len remembered what Lisa was helping Caitlin with: another experiment with Firestorm. Mick always got excited on those days. Of course Mick excited was a slightly more manic glint in his eyes, not necessarily a smile, but it was a start. He nodded and headed back out of the room. 

It was a busy day ahead, nothing terribly pressing, but experiments and odd jobs and patrol later, with the possible take-down of a new crime syndicate that Joe had some leads on who were daring to step foot in Len’s city—well, their city. Just a regular day at the office, he smirked. 

A moment later, the detective himself, along with Iris and Eddie, walked in carrying armfuls of bags. 

“Lunch!” Iris declared. “We figured since everyone was going to be in and out all day, we’d make things easier. Barry’s right behind us, he just stopped to talk to Mick.” She smiled brightly before hurrying on with Eddie toward the kitchen. 

Joe paused in following them with his own armful of bags to walk up to Len and Cisco. “I’ve got several uniforms on standby for tonight if we manage to nab any of these guys. You know the rookie, Shannon? She volunteered again after you saved her life last week. I think she has a little crush.”

Len scoffed. All he’d done was push her out of the way of an incoming laser beam from the meta of the week, and shot his cold gun at the attacker’s feet to knock the guy down before he could fire again; nothing all that impressive. “And here I thought The Flash got all the fans,” he said with a shake of his head. “How do you keep getting these collars, Detective, without someone catching wise to you working with The Flash and Captain Cold? With all these young cops in on the game, you’d think someone would slip up. Isn’t vigilantism still illegal?”

“It is,” Joe nodded seriously, “must be why you’re so good at it.” He eyed Len a moment before cracking a smile. “And hey, if anyone does suspect, and I think they more than just suspect, seems everyone thinks it’s best to just look the other way until there’s reason not to be glad Team ColdFlash is out there.”

Len shot a glare at Cisco for the name. The little punk snorted at him. 

Joe headed off to join Iris and Eddie in the kitchen. “Better hurry up and let the others know grub’s on or no one will have time to eat before we hit the streets tonight.”

“On it!” Cisco said, and dialed down to the floor below to tell Lisa and Caitlin to come back up.

Len sighed at how routine it all was, how familiar now, a couple more weeks gone, and yet, still…it was never boring. Life was always a challenge for Len, every night as Captain Cold, and every day too in his new life. He got to play his games and have fun doing what he loved most—attaining that next big score—it just happened to be achieved in seeing a lesser criminal get put behind bars rather than getting away with a heist of his own.

Lisa always had some new toy from Cisco to keep her interest, some adjustment to her gold gun, some new gadget he would impress her with as he explained it in detail with all of his technical knowledge, which for whatever reason always seemed to make her blush and eventually kiss him, even if he was mid-sentence. And Mick had a way to let out his aggressions and passion for fire simply by working so closely with Firestorm, if not also the team at large. These days he was often the one putting fires out. 

Iris had gotten it right—they were an extended family now. And there were still a few more members out there that Len had yet to meet, including Barry’s actual father, but that would come in time. He wasn’t in any rush, as long as Barry wasn’t—well, as rare as it was for Barry Allen to not rush into anything. But a new kind of normalcy was actually pretty peaceful, Len had discovered, even if he’d be in the thick of battle by the end of the night. 

When he thought of the moment when all of this had started, he always pictured himself alone. Even when he’d had Lisa and Mick, he was largely alone. But he’d been sucked up into the whirlwind of The Flash in so many varied and wonderful ways, and they’d come along with him. With him…and that darn kid, Barry Allen. 

Barry walked into the room wearing a teal button down that brought out the blues and greens in his hazel eyes, and a dark blazer. Effortlessly adorable, though he never believed that when Len mentioned it. “Hey guys. Is the food already in the kitchen? I’m starved.” He grinned as he came up to them and bent toward Len to snag a kiss, just a brief press of lips, a pause to linger and enjoy the connection, and then he pulled away, still grinning madly. 

“How was your day, dear?” Len teased him. 

Barry chuckled. “Better and better. What were you guys talking about?” He turned to Cisco, who spun his chair back and forth like some form of pacing and looked only too amused by them, despite his scowl. 

“Don’t get him started,” Cisco accused. “Also, we’re having Star Trek movie nights. You two can watch the first one alone. Then we’re making it a group thing.”

“Wait…why?” Barry frowned. “What’s wrong with the first one?” He looked at Len with an edge of accusation in his gaze. 

Darn Cisco. “Don’t ask,” Len said. It wasn’t that bad of a film, just a little…slow. Shit. Maybe it would be worse for Barry than he’d thought. But nope, the kid had to see all of the films at least once. “You can dictate everything else about the date, how’s that?”

Barry shook his head and giggled—that wonderful giggle—before tugging Len off of the table. “Fine, whatever. Come on though, let’s have lunch. We can plan our next date night afterwards.”

Len allowed himself to be willingly pulled along, Cisco rolling his eyes at them as he got up to follow.

Date nights, family nights, and good deeds abounded around Len. He had been thoroughly domesticated by this lovable fool leading him by the hand to have lunch with two detectives and a very talented young reporter, among several others, and he couldn’t even be bothered to be upset. He was just happy…whatever might come next. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not prepared to talk about this, to just gush with love for you all and how amazing this whole ride has been, from amazing comments, the sheer awesomeness of this fandom at large, especially over this pairing, all the other amazing writers out there, the tumblr crowd...god, you just make a gal feel so welcome and happy. You make me want to do nothing but write ColdFlash, but sorry, I have to get back to my original work now. 
> 
> Of course...I also have this little fic for coldflashtrash's birthday, that was inspired by one of the prompts I got for my birthday, coming soon, and I have all of the little bonus chapters for the Out Cold epilogue that will be coming, starting with Oliver and Felicity, as I promised, so it's not like you won't hear from me, but it won't be at the insanely fast rate of twice a week posting. 
> 
> The song in this chapter was a selfish one, because it's my song with my husband, but still fitting I think here at the end for these two. After we were engaged, I realized we didn't have a song, and we were at our friends' wedding, and he just went...hang on. And went up to the DJ and requested You and Me by Lifehouse, and it was so...romantic and perfect. We danced at our wedding to a mix of that, Three Libras by A Perfect Circle, and Dance with the Devil by Breaking Benjamin...coz we're cool like that. They're all waltzes so my husband learned to dance for me. :-)
> 
> Okay, enough personal gushing. While I can't thank you all enough...thank you! And see you next time! I truly hope this has been as amazing a ride for all of you as it was for me to write.


	25. EPILOGUE: Olicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having only been officially together for a couple of weeks, everything is going wonderfully for Len and Barry...which is the perfect time for Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak to show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept going back and forth about how to post the Epilogue. I was going to make a new fic connected to the main one as a series, but I find that doing this seems to dissuade people from reading for some reason, so since as of now I have 6 epilogue chapters in mind, which would bring the fic totaling 30 chapters, I decided to just add to the main story. I hope that works for everyone!
> 
> While this chapter would technically come later, though right after the end of the fic since I did give a sense of a couple weeks having passed, some of the other epilogue chapters will take place more directly after Barry and Len first got together, and some will probably be set farther in the future, so they aren't necessarily in order...mainly because I wanted to do this one first. :-)
> 
> Enjoy! And thank you all! I'm making some good headway with my original works, but I'll still dabble with this as time allows.

Everything had been going so well the past couple of weeks since Barry and Len finally got together. Hitting the streets in tandem and fending off bad guys as Team ColdFlash was one thing, but being able to kiss Len whenever he wanted, and stay over at Len’s apartment, and occasionally sneak Len into his room again—though one morning having breakfast with Joe was more than enough for them to decide that was too awkward to continue—it was all so perfect. 

Barry found that his whole life seemed easier having not only a larger support structure now, but someone at his side that filled him with more joy than he’d ever felt pining after Iris, because now the love was reciprocated, and sometimes really sweet and cheesy. Barry loved how sweet and cheesy Len could be. He loved the puns. He loved that his boyfriend was possibly the biggest dork on the planet. He loved…Len. And finally having a day to themselves was the best gift he could have asked for after a busy week. 

Heat Wave, Glider, and Firestorm were doing patrol tonight without them so they could have a night off. They rotated most nights now, always at least in pairs, unless something big was happening. Barry wanted to spend the whole day with Len since neither of them had any responsibilities today. 

“So what do you want to do?” Barry asked while they sat at a table in Jitters. They hadn’t gone up to order anything yet, because the place was packed just after lunch time. They’d had a lazy morning, an early lunch, then decided to go out, get some coffee—mostly for Len—to hit the rest of the day head-on, but hadn’t actually planned anything yet. “Movie?”

“I like the sound of that. I don’t feel we need to be too accomplished today,” Len said. “It’s nice out. We could go for a walk first.”

Barry sensed a tease in there, much as the thought of them strolling arm in arm through the park made him feel a giggly flutter in his chest. “I run in my free time plenty, thanks, I don’t need walks,” Barry teased back, knocking Len’s shin lightly with the toe of his shoe beneath the table. 

Len kicked him gently back. “Or we could check out that new exhibit at the museum. I hear a priceless artifact just got in,” he smirked.

“We are not going out just so you can case a heist, either,” Barry chided him, though he couldn’t actually make himself sound serious, or keep the smile from his face.

“You’re no fun,” Len mock-pouted. “Come on, we could make a game out of it. See how quickly you can stop me. Assuming you can.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Barry laughed more loudly, then dropped his voice to a safe whisper, “you think you can outrun The Flash, Captain Cold, coz I don’t think so.”

“Now, Scarlet,” Len leaned forward onto the table to whisper in kind, “beating you was never about being faster. Just one step ahead. And that, I am sure, I could still pull off.”

“Yeah?” Barry leaned forward to mirror him, their faces barely inches apart over the small table. “Then how come I always won?”

“I wouldn’t say you always won.”

“I won last time.”

“Ah, but only because, as we both know…I wanted to be caught.” Len smiled at Barry coyly, then crossed the minimal space between them to capture Barry’s lips. 

It wasn’t entirely chaste, or short. It lingered, a little bit of tongue slipping in, a soft hum. Part of Barry wanted to protest because, one, they were in the middle of a very packed Jitters, and two, Len was not allowed to win arguments this way, even playful ones. 

But it felt so nice. And warm. And made Barry want to scale the table and crawl right into Len’s lap. If they weren’t in public, he might have done just that. But instead he held the kiss a moment longer when Len first tried to pull away, then rubbed his lips together in the aftermath and stared at his boyfriend’s satisfied smile lovingly. 

Only for his gaze to drift beyond Len’s shoulder and catch sight of Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak heading their direction from the entrance.

“Oh shit,” Barry gasped, sitting up ramrod straight.

“What?” Len glanced over his shoulder, confusion painting his face when he first turned back, then recognition, then intrigue as he studied Barry’s obvious panic. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“Yes.”

“The Arrow?”

“Uh huh.”

Len chuckled darkly. 

“It’s not funny!” 

Barry had explained to Len that he knew Oliver, that Oliver had trained him some, and Len had already known Oliver was The Arrow long before the conversation came up. Apparently he’d figured that out after the first time Oliver visited Central City, because as Len put it, you can’t have someone that high profile show up and then have sightings of a vigilante during the same time period without giving the game away. Roy Harper having gone down for being The Arrow hadn’t convinced Len in the slightest. 

But Barry hadn’t heard anything from Oliver or Felicity since they drove off into the sunset together—somewhat literally the way Felicity had explained things to Barry over the phone—which was only days before everything with Len’s amnesia first happened. He’d been putting off checking in with them for fear of how to explain the events of the past month and a half. Now it seemed the problem had solved itself. 

“Uh…hi, Oliver. Felicity,” Barry said when they reached the table, Felicity looking lovely as always in a killer dress and heels despite her wide-eyed expression, her hair down rather than in its customary ponytail. Oliver looked equal parts strikingly handsome and deadly—so nothing new there. 

But when his face did that twitch thing where his jaw clenched and his lips stretched thin in a smile that was not a smile, his eyes flashing to Len and back to Barry calculating, Barry felt as though his throat was about to close up. “Barry,” Oliver said slowly, “what’s going on here?”

“Are you drugged?” Felicity accused without ceremony, only hushing her voice after Oliver cleared his throat. She continued—albeit softer—undeterred, “Or a shapeshifter again like that one time Caitlin told me about, because there is no way you were just kissing Captain Cold.” 

“Uhh…” Barry’s brain had not yet caught up with the situation enough to explain, and he turned to Len for help, who merely looked back at him expectantly. 

“I get that he’s hot, okay,” Felicity went on with an appraising glance at Len, which prompted a look of mildly surprised preening, “but also, you know…evil.”

“He’s not evil!” Barry defended, probably louder than necessary. And now Oliver and Felicity were the ones looking at him expectantly. “That’s a pretty strong word, anyway, I mean…what’s evil mean, really?” He gestured awkwardly and hunched his shoulders to try and disappear into his body and maybe get one of them to stop focusing on him. 

Oliver’s voice was low and dangerous as he turned his attention to Len—and shit, that wasn’t actually better. “How about cold-blooded murderer.” 

Len returned his stare unflinchingly. “You mean like The Arrow used to be?”

“Len!” Barry hissed. 

Oliver shuffled his feet in that ‘I really want to hit something’ stance he had. He smiled his not-smile again as he shifted back to look at Barry. “I just feel we deserve an explanation.” 

“Yes, Barry, why don’t you…explain to your friends?” Len turned to him as well. Felicity was still staring at him too. Why was he suddenly the bad guy?!

Barry sighed, feeling like being caught between a rock and a hard place—or maybe a ball of ice and a hard surface covered in pointy arrow heads. He looked to Len. Just focused on Len. Len…who actually had a slight betrayal of concern in his eyes now like he feared Barry was ashamed of them, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

He shot Len a reassuring smile and toed his shin again with a light press of his foot. “Len and I are dating,” he said without breaking eye contact. Only then did he look at Oliver. “And he’s not Captain Cold—I mean, he is Captain Cold, but Captain Cold is on Team Flash now.” 

“Team ColdFlash,” Len corrected him. 

Barry looked back at Len, surprised. “I thought you hated that name.” 

“It’s been growing on me,” Len shrugged. 

Barry beamed. He loved the name personally, ever since Cisco first coined it. He still had a dopey smile on his face when he looked back to Oliver and Felicity, but Felicity’s gape and Oliver’s scowl drained the mirth right out of him. “Look,” he tried again, “he works with the whole team now, as in Cisco, Caitlin, Joe—they can all back me up on how he is not in any way evil. It’s kind of a long story how we got here, but I am not drugged,” he said deliberately to Felicity, “or a pod person, or someone other than Barry Allen. I’m just me.”

“Who also happens to be dating Leonard Snart?” Felicity said.

“Yes.”

There was an awkward, tense silence, but at least Len looked appeased, and maybe a little proud. 

Finally, Oliver said, “I think I’m going to need to hear that long story.” 

Barry slumped. Of course he would. 

“Why don’t Miss Smoak and I grab some coffees for everyone so we can give you two a moment?” Len said, already getting out of his seat and offering it to Oliver. 

Barry was instantly filled with affection for his boyfriend…and dread at the thought of being alone with Oliver, having to explain the past few weeks. 

Felicity was eloquent as always, “Dude, what?” before realizing that apparently Oliver was okay with this plan as he took the offered chair, and no one else was otherwise dissenting—much as part of Barry wanted to. “Uhh, sure…” she said, backing a step away from Len when he moved toward her so that a good foot remained between them, “I mean, we’ll just be right over there…me…and Captain Cold,” she murmured. 

“Len,” he said with his best charming smile, which was always more than enough to undo Barry. 

Felicity faltered a moment as if the charm had worked, before shaking her head and giving a somewhat manic laugh. “Len, ha…oh, this is not awkward at all…” she said as they headed off.

Barry would have found the whole encounter terribly amusing…if he hadn’t been left with the very intense, expectant eyebrow raise of Oliver Queen.

Fuck.

XXXXX

Len respected Felicity’s space as they headed for the thankfully shortened line to order coffee, but once they were there, she was the one who got in his space, crowding close to whisper, “So…what is this? Blackmail? Fuck-buddies? Fuck…enemies?” She wrinkled her nose, nothing but accusation in her eyes. “Is it just sex or are you screwing with Barry’s feelings?” 

Len steeled himself for this. She was Barry’s friend, after all, and only looking out for his best interest, much as it grated on him to have to go through earning people’s trust when it came to his boyfriend—again. “Miss Smoak…” 

“Felicity,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly. “If you want me to call you ‘Len’ then drop the formal bullshit. Are you serious about Barry or what? Because he’s been through enough heartache.” Her lips twitched with a touch of sadness, of honest caring for Barry, and Len couldn’t find it in him to be angry with someone over that.

“I’m aware,” he said, dropping all of his masks and armor for a moment, because he got the impression she could see through it all anyway and that it wouldn’t help his situation to be standoffish or smug. “I put him through some heartache myself. In fact, I’m sure that once you hear the story he’s currently telling your boyfriend over there, you will like me even less.” 

Felicity frowned. “Not really selling yourself here, Len.” 

“I’m not trying to. The only thing I care about is what Barry wants. If he’s happy, even with a…” Len’s lips twitched into a reticent smile, “cold-blooded murderer like me…then I’m happy to be with him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I love him.” 

It was their turn at the counter and Len turned away to order in the face of Felicity’s less than modest gawking. He gave the usual order for himself and Barry, then turned back to Felicity, who was still staring, her arms crossed like she had thrown on armor of her own. 

“Felicity, for you and Oliver? My treat,” Len smiled at her. 

Her mouth clamped shut and she narrowed her eyes, before finally giving the order. It amused him that she basically ordered the same thing he had, but the sweeter drink was for herself, and the coffee like Len’s for Oliver. It seemed entirely fitting rather than a hasty decision. They walked off to the side after he paid to wait for their order to be called.

Back at the table, Len could see Barry being rather animated with his gestures, which always seemed to enhance whenever he was nervous, or flustered, or in any way not confident in what he was saying. It was adorable, though Len felt for the kid. Oliver’s tightly crossed arms looked far less accommodating than Felicity’s had. 

She was more unguarded as they waited for the order. She eyed him, hands at her sides, like he was a puzzle she hadn’t yet deciphered, and from what Barry had told him about Felicity, she was an expert at deciphering difficult puzzles. 

“You love him,” she stated rather than asked, though there was a sense of skepticism in her tone. 

“I do.” 

“You’ve told him that?” 

“Many times now.” 

“And this all happened in the last couple months?” 

It still amazed Len sometimes. “The brunt of it in under a week,” he said, “but then Barry does tend to do things…fast.” He smirked, and couldn’t help enjoying the way Felicity huffed a laugh and fought a genuine smile of her own. Len looked at her seriously. “He turned my world upside down in days. We’ve only been officially together for a couple of weeks, but I don’t want anything to change. We work together. Spend our off time together.” 

“Sleep together,” Felicity finished. 

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t enjoy that part,” he grinned.

Felicity shifted in place, chewing her bottom lip in deep thought before she said, “So…has Barry told you anything about me?” 

“A few things.” 

“Such as?” 

“Mainly your beauty, intelligence, and delightful knack for saying the most honest and also inappropriate thing at any given time,” Len rattled off. When Barry had first explained that to him, he had been hard-pressed not to remind the kid that he fell into those categories as well, though Len was curious as to where Felicity was going with this line of questioning. 

“I have a filter problem,” she said, not apologizing really, just looking at him steadily.

“Are you warning me of impending doom, Felicity?” 

“Yes.” 

Len appreciated her honesty. He could tell she had something she wanted to ask, but was struggling valiantly to not say anything too indecent. Well, Len didn’t mind being a little indecent from time to time. “What do you want to know?” 

Felicity gave an eager hop on the balls of her heeled feet, apparently amazed she had been given permission for something she usually wouldn’t have been able to keep in, and so grateful for the respite. She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. “What’s he like?” she asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “You know…with the powers?” 

Len chuckled. Barry would never be able to answer a question like that without stammering and blushing darkly, but Len had actually been hoping for an opportunity to tell someone this. Lisa had asked, but it was too strange discussing such things with his sister. Mick certainly had no interest. Cisco and Caitlin might have, for the academic knowledge, but that was no fun. 

Len leaned down close to Felicity’s ear and whispered, “He can individually or all at once…vibrate…every part of his body.” He pulled back with a satisfied smirk, though not nearly as satisfied as he was when he got to experience that little trick.

Felicity’s mouth hung open, though this time with mute shock that slowly turned into a sly, red-faced grin. “Nice.” 

Any remaining tension that might have existed between them dissipated. Len adored this woman already. 

"Len!" their order was called. They retrieved the drinks and turned back to the table.

"I think we better save Barry," Len said.

Felicity nodded, but halfway there she stopped him. "Okay, so…I wouldn’t say you’ve won me over just yet, but you have my attention. You totally know that I will murder you, in heels, if you ever hurt him, right?"

Len laughed. "You’ll have a long line to get behind, Felicity…but duly noted."

She glanced up at him curiously. "You guys doing anything today?"

"Actually, we were trying to decide how to spend our Saturday when you showed up. Do you think Oliver would be up for a double date?" Len suggested with a devious grin tossed toward their respective boys at the not too distant table.

Felicity cocked her head, watching them as well. "I’ll have to check with the vein currently throbbing out of his skull, but…why not?"

XXXXX

Oliver’s steely expression had yet to waver. “And after all of that, you trust him?” 

“I do,” Barry said with more confidence than he’d displayed during the rest of his rapid-fire retelling of recent events. He’d had more than enough time to believe in Len, more than enough reason to trust him implicitly. 

Oliver sighed, arms still crossed, a somewhat pained expression that actually was a little Joe-reminiscent since it had a tinge of flustered father-figure to it. “I still can’t believe you slept with him to begin with.”

Barry’s gut clenched and venom spewed from his lips before he could stop it, “Because you’ve never slept with one of your villains?”

There was that steely death glare again. 

Barry crumbled. “He’s changed, Oliver. No, not even changed, realized he wanted to be better, and embraced a part of himself he thought he’d lost. And he didn’t do it for me, he did it for himself. He made choices to leave his old life behind because he wanted to, even though he believed it would be better if we weren’t together. I convinced him otherwise. I’m the one who pushed for more. I’m not being manipulated.”

“Did you believe you were being manipulated the last time he conned you?” Oliver asked plainly. 

And that made Barry’s face twitch, because no, no he hadn’t, but this was so different from…all of those other times. “When you see how we have things setup around the city with his safe houses linked to S.T.A.R. Labs…just trust me, it puts your setup to shame.”

“Oh really?” Oliver raised an eyebrow, still waiting for Barry to back down, but when he didn’t, he shook his head. “Working with Captain Cold. And his sister and Heat Wave too?”

“One big happy family,” Len said as he and Felicity returned, passing around the coffees and taking opposing seats to fill the small four-person table so that Felicity sat between Barry and Oliver, and so did Len on the other side.

Barry looked to Len gratefully for the coffee, downing most of it in his first swig to feel at least some semblance of a caffeine rush, however brief it would last. He glanced at Felicity to find her smiling—smiling, not judging with her eyes or pursing her lips—so at least their conversation had gone better than his. 

Oliver did enough judging for the both of them as he cast his gaze on Len, but Felicity made a point to push his coffee closer to him and cleared her throat. 

“So…movie and then dinner?” she said. “No, I know Oliver. Stop at S.T.A.R. Labs to assess things, then dinner, then movie. Sound good, honey?” She batted her lashes at him with a practiced and very purposeful over the top, sweetened tone. 

Oliver looked to her bemused, searching her face for signs of discomfort or hidden agenda, but she just kept on smiling, obviously quite serious with her request, and stared him down without faltering. Barry wished he knew how she did that so easily, but then he figured they’d worked their way up to easy after years of complicated. Still, it was clear that Len had gotten her over to their side somehow. 

When Oliver glanced to Len again, Len leaned closer to Barry, resting his arm on the back of Barry’s chair with a show of subtle possessiveness, his more common, cunning smile in place. Barry used that moment to pull on his best ‘puppy pout’ as Len called it—and he really hated that, but hey, work with your strengths—eyes downturned and pleading, so that as soon as Oliver turned to him, it was all over. 

“Okay…” Oliver said, taking his coffee in hand and offering Felicity a tight smile, “then that’s what we’ll do.” His smile took on that homicidal edge again when he looked at Len. “Snart, I hope you realize, that if I ever find out—”

“Please spare me the shovel talk, Mr. Queen,” Len broke in smoothly. “I’ve had one from everyone involved in our extended family—literally everyone, including Felicity just now, my own sister, and Heat Wave.” 

“Mick too?” Barry gaped. “Really?” They had been getting along well enough, but he had sort of expected the opposite to happen at some point, and for Mick to push his fire gun into Barry’s chest while threatening to fry him if he ever broke Len’s heart.

Len gave him a look of part fondness, part exasperation. “Honestly, I think he likes you better than me. The traitor… Though to be fair, we have been at odds several times during our partnership. And you’re the one who made working with Firestorm possible. Clearly, he likes Ronnie and Stein more than either of us.”

Barry barked a laugh. “Oh, no contest there.”

Len laughed with him and they leaned into each other a little, completely reflexive. Barry didn’t mean to be all affectionate in public, but when Len laughed, and smiled like that, and the banter was light and playful between them, he couldn’t help it.

This time when Barry looked at Oliver, he thought maybe his friend was starting to understand what Felicity obviously already got—it was impossible to not see how happy and comfortable they were together, something Joe and many others had come to terms with. Now it was Team Arrow’s turn. 

While Oliver stared with something calculating but not quite as condemning, he suddenly jerked in his seat, and Barry got the impression that Felicity had just kicked him under the table. Oliver sighed and steadied his gaze on Len again. 

“So, Snart…tell me about this setup with your safe houses.”

XXXXX

The tour of a couple safe houses seemed to appease Oliver, though not nearly as much as finally heading to S.T.A.R. Labs and seeing the reactions of everyone there—who happened to be Cisco, Caitlin, and Mick for the early afternoon, to put things in perspective for the heads of Team Arrow, seeing both sides of Team ColdFlash working together without incident. 

Mick, of course, gave Oliver a smoldering once over as if to say, ‘I could take him’, but accepted Felicity’s politely offered hand when they were more formerly introduced. When Cisco and Felicity started talking about something Len was certain he only understood about 20% of, and Barry, Caitlin, and Mick started talking shop, Len found himself sitting off to the side leaning against a table, watching in amusement, until Oliver disengaged himself from the others to join him. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood next to Len, leaning against the same table. Finally, with both of them looking forward watching the others, Oliver said, “I have a bad habit of feeling as though Barry is my responsibility. Everyone who works directly with me, I tend to feel that way about. I don’t want to see him get hurt. In any sense of the word.” 

Len should have known he couldn’t completely avoid this conversation with The Arrow. “I know Barry appreciates that, Oliver. I feel the same way about him.” Well, maybe not quite the same as only feeling like Barry was his responsibility, but like…he didn’t know what he’d do without the kid anymore. 

Oliver remained stiff and on guard, arms crossed, clearly not liking how things had turned out, even if he had been proven wrong in so many ways today. His breath stuttered like he was trying and failing to say something several times, before he managed, “I realize it would be…hypocritical of me to judge you for past deeds when you’re trying to put them behind you.” 

“Yes. It would.”

Oliver turned to him, and try as he might not to, Len had to turn in kind and meet the other man’s hard gaze. Oliver’s voice was hushed now. “I can trust myself to know that I won’t kill no matter how far I’m pushed. I do not have that same faith in you, Snart, because I don’t know you.” 

“No, you don’t,” Len said, letting the smirk fall from his expression as he lowered his voice as well. “So let me be blunt. I don’t trust myself to never kill again, so you don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe Barry that either, because it’s not something I would ever promise him. So you can doubt me all you want. If someone threatens anyone—anyone—on this team enough that I feel there is no other choice, you and Barry might be able to hold back from killing, but I won’t. I’ve told him the same. But it will never be for the reasons I’ve killed in the past.”

Oliver didn’t look pleased but not quite challenging either. “And that’s enough for Barry?” 

“He says it is,” Len said—damn righteous brat.

Oliver nodded, “Then I hope we never end up on opposite sides…Len,” and extended a hand toward him. 

Len was skeptical, but then he figured Oliver wouldn’t actually try more than thinly veiled threats in the presence of so many others, and this was probably quite the sacrifice for the more brutal vigilante. So Len accepted the hand, shook it firmly, but when he tried to pull away, he found Oliver’s grip had tightened to almost painful, and tugged to pull him in uncomfortably close. 

“Because even though I won’t kill you, Snart,” he said with dangerous promise aflame in his eyes, “I can do much…worse.”

Of course Len wouldn’t admit that he enjoyed that kind of threat. He so dearly wanted to challenge Oliver in return, but…no. They wanted the same things, and Len was supposed to play nice now, so he merely said, “I don’t doubt that. But aside from my less than admirable nature, Oliver,” he glanced around Oliver at Barry looking adorably amused by something rather animated Mick was saying, and couldn’t keep the affection out of his voice, “I’d sooner die than let the kid down again.”

After a moment of lingering tension, Oliver released him, and Len stretched his fingers, because that had been an impressive grip, but he thought that maybe, just maybe he’d broken through whatever remaining hesitation Oliver had to trust him. Oh, he’d probably never fully trust him, but he’d back off for Barry’s sake. Len was being nothing but honest, and everyone around them seemed to get that, seemed to feel it like a pulse—the way Len and Barry felt about each other. Sometimes it could almost be overwhelming for Len, but then he always did things to the extreme. He was a showman deep down, after all. 

Oliver offered a short nod before heading over to Felicity. 

Barry, who seemed to finally notice that Len and Oliver had been a lone for several minutes, excused himself from Caitlin and Mick’s conversation, and moved swiftly to join him. He took Oliver’s spot next to Len leaning against the table, though much more at ease as he crossed his arms and looked out at the others. 

“So…this could have all gone much worse, right?” Barry knocked him with his shoulder. “Right?”

“Sure, kid.” Len eyed Oliver and noticed how immediately more relaxed he was just being near Felicity, real humor in his eyes as he listened in for a moment on whatever Cisco and Felicity were discussing before being pulled into the debate. “Felicity’s a doll,” Len said earnestly, “I’m lucky Oliver exists, or she might have stolen you away before we got this far.”

Barry just laughed. He’d already explained to Len that there had been something between him and Felicity once, but that it had never been able to move from attraction and friendship to all out romance because both of them had had their sights set elsewhere. 

Barry seemed about to comment on something to that effect, when Felicity turned and gave him a gauging once over. Len tried not to snicker, knowing full well what was probably racing through her mind. 

“She keeps looking at me like that,” Barry said with a frown. “I think she is spending way too much brain power imagining us having sex,” he laughed, maybe half joking, and half realizing how right he was. 

“Undoubtedly,” Len said, then leaned in close to whisper, “especially after I told her what you can do with your speed.”

“You…what?” Barry pushed from the table to turn fully toward him, arms dropping as his expression became awash in horror. “Oh my god, seriously? Why…why would you tell her that?” he blushed beet red.

Len failed at holding back the smirk pushing into his expression again, and shrugged. “She asked. And maybe I liked the thought of making her jealous. I am the luckiest man in Central City, you know.” He stretched his grin wider and leaned forward to capture Barry’s inviting lips. 

The kid held back with a scowl for only a moment before he gave in, only too easy to sway to Len’s advantage, something Len could take for granted quite easily, or use to manipulate Barry…but he never would. Not anymore. 

They kissed, simple and sweet, but Len pushed further before Barry could pull away, pressing for entrance that Barry would never refuse him, and allowing the kiss to turn just heated enough that when they parted, Barry’s cheeks were flush and he licked his lips with a hum. That was the only kind of sway Len needed over the Scarlet Speedster, the knowledge to turn him into a blushing fool for a moment, because he loved getting the kid’s heart racing from something other than the chase. 

By the time Barry settled into position beside Len again, just leaning there against the table, watching everyone, Oliver and Felicity had ended their conversation with Cisco and headed over. 

“Dinner and a movie?” Felicity said, latching onto Oliver’s arm. 

“Certainly,” Len said. “You up for that, Scarlet?”

Barry looked a little flustered about the whole thing—actually completing this strange afternoon with a double date—and Oliver seemed a fair amount of reluctant as well, but neither dissented. 

“Scarlet?” Felicity sputtered, as if she thought it the most endearing and unexpected of pet names. 

“They call him the Scarlet Speedster, you know,” Len said, casting the man in question a loving gaze. “I think it suits him.”

Barry blushed. The nickname wasn’t fitting only because of the suit, after all.

“Uck, I think you two are going to rot my teeth,” Felicity said, but she was grinning with approval and fondness as they said their goodbyes to those at S.T.A.R. Labs and made their way out of the building. 

“Are you a sci-fi fan, Oliver?” Len asked as Barry speed-checked for what was playing and movie times.

“Honestly, it’s hard to say,” Oliver said. “I don’t get to the movies much. I did spend five years out of touch with normal society.”

Felicity snorted, and Barry shared an amused expression with her before continuing to scan through his phone. 

Len, for his part, risked a brief pat to The Arrow’s shoulder, and didn’t receive a death glare so much as a curious, raised eyebrow. “We’ll have to educate you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bottom!Len is next! Aka their next time after the first time they had together (well first from when they were an official couple) even though I've done some bottom!Len recently with Fear Effect. I just have such a good idea for it for this fic... And then I have planned 4 additional little mini stories in here after that with varying degrees of fluff and sexy, but feel free to give me ideas if there's something you'd like to see!


	26. EPILOGUE: Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it stood to reason that as soon as they parted that Saturday, Len was already thinking about ‘next time’, and not just the next time they would see each other or work together, but living up to the promise he’d made to Barry—“Next time, you’re fucking me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for granvas, because angst and meta au ideas and so many things, so enjoy this, dear, which I promised I would get done this weekend, as it had been a while. But now I need to work on original stuff again for a bit before I do anything more!
> 
> And what, new Tumbling Together from RedHead? Bah! But I'm heading out the door! Tomorrow...
> 
> And the ending portion is for LiselleVelvet for...reasons you'll see. :-)

The first time they were intimate and solidified being together after the agony of the weeks prior had been a Saturday. Len had gotten coffee, done physical therapy, sparred with Barry—who he had then made out with, pushed away, and made out with again in fairly rapid succession before ending up at the kid’s home where they’d finally culminated their mutual pining into something tangible. And beautiful. And mind-blowingly hot, Len wouldn’t lie. Followed by events that were sweet and domestic and somewhat surreal, but still wonderful. Everything about being with Barry was wonderful. 

So it stood to reason that as soon as they parted that Saturday, Len was already thinking about ‘next time’, and not just the next time they would see each other or work together, but living up to the promise he’d made to Barry—“Next time, you’re fucking me.” 

The tease that he often pictured Barry bending him over every hard surface in the labs wasn’t a lie either. That would be a bad idea though, given the cameras, but apparently Barry was looking into possible blind spots, “Just in case,” which amused Len to no end. 

Still. Hard surfaces. Barry bending him over one. Barry taking him the way he’d been taken, eager and no doubt spewing filth from his mouth that would open Len up all the more. 

It was decidedly distracting, having the promise of that looming. Especially considering it was almost the following weekend before they had an opportunity to be alone and attempt anything even remotely intimate again. They’d planned a Friday night date, like an actual normal, everyday couple, and Len still couldn’t quite get over that, but the thought of spending time with Barry outside of just being part of the same team was thrilling. 

Until they got called in to attend to an all too familiar crisis when Captain Boomerang appeared in Central City. Len had an instant dislike for the man, though he vehemently denied it was only because they shared part of the same code name. At least the guy wasn’t a meta. 

Taking him down hadn’t been anything too difficult or taxing, hadn’t even required the whole team, which annoyed Len really, because the others probably could have handled things without him and Barry. As it stood, once they were finished cleaning up Boomerang’s mess, it was too late for dinner—Barry would need calories soon, but something harried and easy, not a nice dinner out. Their evening had been hijacked by responsibilities Len had never expected he’d care so much about. 

Then, just when he thought all was lost and that he and Barry would part ways for the night, maybe meet up again in the morning for another Saturday sparring session—which in and of itself could prove fruitful—Barry pulled him aside.

“We could go back to your place. Order pizza.” Hazel eyes sparkled with want of far more than dinner.

Len nodded. 

They barely said their goodbyes to the others, Eddie already gone to the station with Harkness in tow as Joe lingered behind and received a hasty, “Date night!” from Barry as explanation to where he was off to. Len really needed to get Barry out of that house; the kid needed his own place. But for now, escaping to the nearest safe house was good enough. 

Len would have preferred to bring Barry to his actual apartment, but even with Mendoza taken care of, there was still a chance of a few stray lowlifes crashing their fun—Len needed to find a new place too—so he suggested his most recently lived in safe house. Lisa and Mick hadn’t stayed there in weeks, but Barry had been to that particular safe house before, given their new setup with S.T.A.R. Labs, so all he needed was the general location before whisking them across town in moments. 

Barry had his hands on Len the second the door closed behind them. Len wasn’t about to complain. 

While Barry had had the time—or rather, speed—to change before leaving the labs, Len was still in his Cold gear. Barry’s hands were warm as they slid up inside his sweater along his cool skin. His skin was always chilled after using the cold gun, so the contrast made him gasp and fumble to grip Barry’s arms as the kid pinned him and ravaged his lips with an eagerness that had been building between them all week. 

There was no hesitations now, no nerves, no permission needed to be given. When they wanted to kiss and touch and press into each other, all either of them had to do was initiate and the other succumbed. For how short a time had passed since this all began, it still felt like it had taken far too long to get here.

Barry’s hands were warm, his mouth, his probing tongue; his whole body radiated heat with a charge of electricity that Len thrived off of, even though he normally hated being anything but…cool. Barry often questioned how he could stand wearing so many layers even when it was hot out, but Len had always regulated temperature better than most people. When he did feel hot, though, it was misery. Things were about to heat up now, but this kind of warmth he didn’t mind at all. 

Len’s gloves and goggles were tucked into his parka’s pockets. Keeping his hold on Barry’s arms, relishing in the frantic way Barry kissed him, deep and full-bodied, Len managed to push Barry away just slightly to get the point across that he wanted to turn them. Barry allowed the movement, but didn’t remove his lips, or his hands from pressing to Len’s bare chest beneath the sweater. 

Len pivoted them slowly as he returned every stroke of Barry’s tongue. He peeked an eye open so he knew the exact moment when Barry was the one with his back to the door. He pushed the kid up against it, breaking the contact of their lips and Barry’s hands up his shirt. Barry grinned even as his eyes went wide from the sudden separation. 

Len held Barry’s gaze as he dropped the parka from his shoulders, twirling it off and hanging it on a rack beside the door, heavy with the weight of the cold gun. He moved back into the kid’s body before Barry could try and step away. 

“Stay right where you are, Scarlet,” he said, pressing a palm to the chest of Barry’s soft burgundy sweater. He dropped to his knees. 

The flush that spread across Barry’s cheeks was lovely, his eyes already hazy and darkened, as he licked his lips and blinked down at Len. Len undid Barry’s khaki-colored cargos with deliberate slowness. He’d been waiting to do this since they shared a shower, since maybe longer than that, and now that it was obvious Barry had enough energy to wait a little longer for a late dinner, he wasn’t going to pass this opportunity up. 

Len might not have any meta human tricks like Barry, but he was very skillful with his tongue. 

He slid Barry’s pants down first, and because they were baggier than jeans, they fell right to his ankles. The tent in Barry’s boxer briefs—pin-striped this time—was all too appealing. Len pressed his palms to either side of it on Barry’s thighs, and Barry whimpered. 

Len could be nice, at least to start, so he obliged by lifting the elastic and sliding Barry’s shorts just slightly down his thighs until he sprang free. He replaced his hands on Barry’s thighs, fingers splayed up across Barry’s hips with his erection framed between them, and held the kid in place as he bent forward. He sucked Barry in, all the way in, no tease, just immediate heat as he bobbed almost to the base. Barry’s whimpers cut off in a low moan.

Len hummed in pleasure, satisfied with the kid’s reactions, but also to offer the more subtle vibrations a normal human was capable of. He knew how good that could feel, the low hum of someone’s throat as they took you in deep. Len had plans for Barry tonight, renewed and amended after they’d nearly been denied. 

He relaxed his throat, focused on the smell of the kid, that spark of something like a summer storm and the lingering scent of the Flash suit mixed with his natural mask as Len bobbed in close again to Barry’s complete lack of hair. Len was usually an au naturel kind of guy, but something about The Flash being fully shaven was the biggest turn on. At least he assumed ‘shaved’ was the right term, but maybe the lightning had had something to do with it. He’d have to ask sometime. 

Barry’s skin felt so soft—everywhere, but especially in the intimate places of his upper thighs and between his legs. Always regenerated, refreshed. Always brand new skin that had never been touched. 

Len ran his tongue along the underside of Barry’s cock as he bobbed a couple times more slowly, then slower still, then began to speed up, only using his mouth and tongue, with his hands steadying the more and more frequent jerky movements of Barry’s hips. 

“Len…” Barry moaned, hands falling to Len’s shoulders, the right running reverent and adoring up over the crown of Len’s head. Len flicked his eyes up to see how hooded Barry’s eyes were—heavy, pupils blown, mouth slack—maybe too tired and hungry and eager to think of any dirty things to say this time. Len couldn’t help grinning at leaving the kid speechless. 

He twirled his tongue around Barry’s head, and pulled away just long enough to say, “I’m going to make you come, kid. Then we’ll work on seeing how handy your ability to bounce back really is.”

A lower moan replied as Len resumed his fervent work. Barry’s hand tightened around the curve of Len’s head, his own falling back against the door as if in relief that he’d been given permission to come. The kid was too polite sometimes, had this idea in him that things always needed to be reciprocated, which was sweet and romantic at times, and Len certainly wasn’t going to deny Barry any time he wanted to ‘break even’ as it were, but sometimes he needed to let himself be selfish and enjoy something just for him. 

The fact that Barry’s body allowed him to ramp right back up and go again, well, that was just part of what made Len the luckiest man in Central City. 

“Len,” Barry huffed again, this time with urgency, and Len knew the kid was close. He hollowed his cheeks, continued on a few more moments with gusto, then pulled back to lick once more up Barry’s length, and finish him off with a swift hand that finally moved from pressing Barry’s hips into the door. 

Barry whimpered again as he came, fast and hot like everything else he did, his face scrunched and tense, and then relaxing into smiling relief. He blinked lazily down at Len. 

The majority of the mess coated Len’s hand, so he swiped at Barry’s still mostly hard cock to gather the rest and stood. “I’m going to clean up. You better be undressed the rest of the way when I get back.”

Barry nodded vigorously, already a blur of lightning by the time Len turned for the bathroom. He washed his hands, removed his boots and socks, started to undo his pants, but left himself in a half-dressed state for the moment as he dug the lube out of the bottom drawer. 

He exited back into the main room to find Barry, fully nude, stroking himself to hardness again, sprawled out over the sofa. That was a sight Len would catalog for later, and never, ever tire of. 

He tossed the lube at Barry, whose reflexes were unmatched even with his left hand being the one to reach up and catch it. “Don’t get too comfy,” Len told him, “I thought we had an arrangement on how this was going to go.”

“Arrangement?” Barry’s brow furrowed, then smoothed out as his eyes went wide and he looked to the lube again—he remembered. 

“Arrangement,” Len said again, peeling his sweater off and tossing it to the floor, then sliding his already undone pants down and tugging each end from his ankles. He paused to take Barry in again, his long, lean, naked form, as the kid in turn watched him and eyed his body with rapt attention. 

Len fluidly slid his shorts down his thighs to join the rest of the trail of clothes he was leaving behind him as he crossed the room right past the sofa to his work table. It was empty at the moment, clean, and such a marvelous height for his purposes tonight. He smoothed his hands over the cool surface, his back to Barry—his full naked form presented—and peered over his shoulder to find the speedster flipped onto his stomach, peeking up over the arm of the sofa like a curious, naughty child. 

Captain Cold or not, Len knew how to play with fire. He stretched his arms out over the table again as he leaned forward, resting his upper half on the surface with nothing left to the imagination about what he wanted. “You going to leave me hanging here, Scarlet…or give me what I asked for?”

Barry made a noise like a wounded grunt, like he might come again, right there into the sofa cushions, just from looking at Len positioned like that. They both knew what they did to each other, and using that knowledge to their advantage was part of the fun. 

Barry zipped from the sofa at Flash speed, the lube placed on the table near Len’s head, a warm hand sliding down the curve of his ass in moments, but slow once it got there, just wanting to touch him with gentle fingers. Barry molded his body to Len’s and gently laid atop him, his warm chest against Len’s cool back, his lips pressing to Len’s neck, his cock twitching between Len’s thighs. 

“You look so good like this…” Barry said when he pulled up, running both palms up Len’s back, his heated length pressing against Len from the close position, eager to find a harbor. “Is that comfortable though?” he asked with a tinge of worry, pressing a hand to the hard surface of the table. 

Len snorted. “I think you can help me forget any discomfort in a couple of minutes.”

Barry chuckled, his hands moving down Len’s back again, down his hips, and smoothing over his cheeks, his thumbs teasing along the line between them. “Definitely. But hang on a sec.”

The heat of Barry was gone and back again in literally seconds. Len looked back to see the speedster holding his parka, the cold gun removed from within to rest on the coffee table. Barry smiled at him innocently—only not so innocently—and touched a hand to his shoulder to get him to lift up. Len did, and Barry situated the parka over the surface beneath him so Len could lie back down onto its softer padding. 

Len liked the coolness of the table, but this was more pleasant overall, he had to admit. He shifted his hips back against Barry when the kid moved into position again. “Ever the gentleman,” Len said, something he’d said in so many words before, and he knew why it was always one of the things on his mind about Barry—because of the conversation he’d had with Lisa right before this all started. 

_“Gentlemen are hard to come by in this business.”_

As it turned out, they’d just needed to switch businesses. 

“Are you sure you can handle me, Captain Cold,” Barry said insolently, though there was a touch of apprehension in his voice when he leaned over Len’s body again and whispered, “I haven’t done this since I got the speed. It was easier in the other position.”

“Not to worry, Barry. I have complete faith in you,” Len said, settling into the parka, his face turned as he glanced back at Barry, his legs planted squarely on the floor. “You and your magic, vibrating…everything.” He winked. 

Barry blushed. It never stopped being easy—and adorable—to bring that out in him. Then Barry rekindled his dominant side, his expression heated as he snatched up the lube. “Since I can speak from experience, I find that whoever is in this position,” he said, his right thumb flicking the cap open while his left hand gave Len’s ass a gentle squeeze, “tends to make more noise. I know I do. So I have to wonder…” his voice dropped to a whisper again, “…how noisy are you going to be?”

This side of Barry kept Len up at night, and chased him into far too pleasant dreams. He suppressed a shiver. And then reminded himself that he didn’t need to hide anything from Barry, or feel any nerves about being vulnerable for him, so he let the shiver run its course. “How noisy do you want me to be?”

Barry hummed like he wanted nothing more than to find that out together. He poured some of the lube into his hand, coating his fingers, and set the bottle aside. Len was already so hard, just from the lead up to this, just from imagining what Barry’s fingers would feel like, that he was doubtlessly weeping onto the floor. 

The first touch of Barry’s slicked fingers was a tease along the line of his entrance down to his balls, where Barry palmed them, stroked down the length of him, gathering the leaking wetness and coating Len fully to make the slide of his hand smooth. But he didn’t linger, stroking only once more before he moved his fingers back up and passed his thumb over the puckered skin, not yet pressing inside. 

Barry moved his hand down again, repeated what he’d started with, even stroking Len twice like before, and again when he returned to his entrance, he merely brushed his thumb, the tips of his fingers. Len whined before he could stop himself, because he’d been thinking about this for so long, all week, and decidedly longer than they’d been together, and he didn’t know if he could take the sweet, torturous pace Barry was setting. 

“I’m really curious what other sounds you’ll make…” Barry said softly, his voice raspy with arousal, and as he spoke, he finally, finally pressed the first digit inside of Len. Barry’s fingers were long, and even a single press and curling gesture hit the spot Len had been craving. He whimpered far more needily than Barry had against the door. “Fuck,” Barry said in response, and stroked at that same spot again. 

Usually, in the past, with other partners, Len had always held back if he was in this position. There was no one he had ever been with that he’d wanted to be fully open with, fully revealed and bare. Fucking fulfilled a need, not a connection. But with Barry he could have both, wanted both, and had amazed himself twice already how much making love with this kid made him feel complete. 

He moaned, loud as he naturally wanted to, and felt Barry rock forward, twitching against his thigh again. Barry knew to make the motion of his finger a stroke rather than a thrust, knew to twist it and curl it just so, far more experienced and talented with a single finger than Len had guessed.

“Remember when I told you…that I touched myself like this thinking of you doing it?” Barry said. 

Len moaned again as the words were accompanied by the first press of a second finger, deliberately, teasingly slow—of course Barry knew how to do this. “Hard…to forget,” he huffed back. 

“Well there was something else I did…that I can do…that I’m sure you’re already thinking about…and when I did it that night, I was thinking of exactly this…of doing it to you, and hearing you call my name.”

“Barry,” Len groaned, not intentional compliance, but because he was unable not to after the two fingers slowly stretching and scissoring within him started to vibrate. “Oh fuck…fuck…Barry…”

“Yeah…just like that,” Barry said with a grin in his voice. 

It was better than Len had imagined it, so much better than fantasies he’d entertained, because this was the real Barry Allen at his back, one hand at his hip, feeling up and down the curve of his ass, while the other vibrated fingers inside of him that would soon be replaced with something better. 

Len dug his face into the parka. There was this wintry smell to it from the gun that Len loved, that reminded him of the adrenaline coursing through his veins whenever he had the Captain Cold guise in place. Maybe Leonard Snart was the guise, and Captain Cold—this version of Captain Cold especially, partnered with The Flash—was his awakening. 

Either way it spurred him on further to have these pieces of his life combined, the parka beneath him in one of his own safe houses, as The Flash, the Scarlet Speedster himself, bent him over his work table. 

“I pictured this…” Len said, a grunt, a whimper at the end, as he moaned between words, with the slow curving motion and press within him of Barry’s vibrating fingers. “That first time you whisked me out of Central…and showed your face…that pretty face…I pictured this. Not slamming you up against one of those trees…though that’s been a recurring fantasy too…but, ngnnn…” he trailed a moment as Barry pushed in deeper, “…but this…how powerful it’d feel…being fucked by a man who doesn’t know he’s a god.”

Barry gave that straggled, wounded grunt again, and pulled his fingers free. The lube was snatched from the table again, and Len pressed himself further into the parka, so ready, so eager for this, he moaned just thinking about it. 

“I pictured it too…” Barry said, the slicking noise of Barry stroking lube over himself only making the anxiousness coiling in Len’s gut boil hotter. “After Saints and Sinners. The way you looked. The way you eyed me. Like you wanted me. Like you were tempted to write something obscene on that napkin instead of a number.” 

“I nearly did,” Len recalled. “Seemed in poor taste. Guess I should have gone with my instincts.” 

Barry’s low giggle responded. “I thought back on it…sometimes,” he said, reaching forward to press his fingers back inside of Len, briefly, no longer vibrating, just to make sure he was stretched and ready. “On the pool table. In the alley.”

“Always you fucking me, kid?”

“Both ways. Why have limitations?”

Len chuckled, “Now you’re sounding like me,” but his laughter tumbled into a fresh moan as Barry pressed to his entrance. 

“I’m the noisy one, right?” Barry said in a husky whisper. “So let’s see if we can make you sound more like me.” 

The first push burned just the right side of almost too much. It had been a while for Len, and Barry was much larger than two fingers, but he knew to wait past the first breach, give Len time to adjust, and before he pressed any further in, he whispered, “Is it okay?”

All his bravado still paled in comparison to his good nature. It’s part of what Len loved about him. Len nodded, but had too little breath to say much more than, “Good…so good,” and waited for the next push. 

Len’s hands reached forward to find the edge of the table, and gripped tight, feeling the tickle of fur from the parka’s hood at his wrists. He tightened his hold reflexively with each new inch of Barry, and a broken moan tore from his throat when Barry was finally fully seated inside of him. 

Barry ran his hands up Len’s back and down again, then gripped his hips as he asked once more, “Okay?”

Len whined, nodded, gripped the table tighter. 

The first backstroke was subtle, just slightly out and back again, and again the same way, before Barry dared pull further out of Len on his next stroke in. Each time the thrusts got deeper, Len moaned into the parka, louder—louder. Barry was going at such a gradual pace, enjoying each stroke back and home again, with a huff and shudder of his breath. 

“Barry…” Len buried his face in the parka, his pulse wild and still speeding up, knowing they’d barely started, that they’d barely touched on how Barry could make him feel, and readying himself for what came next. 

“I don’t want you to come…too soon,” Barry said. “You were so nice to me when we got here…I want to be nice to you.”

He didn’t sound so nice right now. He sounded positively villainous, and Len couldn’t help a swell of pride in that, in how they’d rubbed off on each other in the best of ways—so many ways. 

Barry’s hands slid around Len’s hips, down the front of his thighs, and up again along the grooves, less defined in this bent position. His fingers curled around to graze between Len’s thighs, just barely skimming his balls, but nothing else, nothing closer, not yet. 

Len could still feel himself weeping, dripping to the floor, even with the slickness of lube left on him from Barry’s earlier attentions. The lube made him feel hot, the heat of Barry behind him all the more, and he suddenly wished he didn’t have the cushion of the parka so he could press his cheek to the cool table. 

“Christ, kid, touch me already…” Len begged when Barry continued to run his hands around the prize but never on it, while his agonizingly slow thrusts, constant and deep—deeper each time—spilled the neediest noises from Len’s lips. “Please…”

“Mmm…I think you need to be louder,” Barry said in his gruff giggle. “I want to be sure you’re ready, Len.”

He wanted to be sure he wrecked Len apparently, which is exactly what Len had been hoping for when he got himself in this position. He could play along, though he already had ideas of just how wrecked he’d make Barry the next time. 

Maybe this would be their new game, always working to outdo each other. Now that would be a worthy challenge—Len’s next big score indeed. 

So Len let the teasing pleasure build—Barry fucking him, feathering his fingers down and up and so close but never quite there—and moaned, cried out, whimpered with the best of them, even sputtered out a few, “Scarlet!” and “Yes!” and “Harder, kid, fuck!” just to prove he meant business. 

Barry moaned in kind to hear it all. And finally, finally, his right hand slid around to grip Len’s balls gently, playfully passing them over his palm, and stroked down into the still silky mess of lube, gathering the much more liberal wetness at Len’s tip, and using it to add to the hot slide of his hand. He started to pump Len with a tight grip, his other hand low between Len’s legs, his hips picking up speed. 

Len could admit, he was close already, so close that he knew as soon as Barry started to pick up the pace to his real levels of speed, he wouldn’t last long. And Barry was so controlled as he did it, never more than Len could handle. The kid was a fool for doubting himself. All he ever needed was motivation and he was capable of anything, even slowly fucking his boyfriend bent over a table, and summoning vibrations that rumbled inside of Len, through Barry’s hips, and into the hand on Len’s cock. 

“Barry!” Len cried out this time, echoing throughout the room, and letting out a long resonating moan to follow it, because the sensations were all through and around him, all at once. And somehow, somehow, despite the vibrating, Barry’s thrusts maintained the same slow, penetrating pace. Len’s knuckles had to be white from gripping the table so hard. 

Barry was leaned over him as he stroked Len’s cock, nearly flush against his back, lips close enough to his neck and ear for Len to feel the dusting of breath as he said, “Yeah…you love it, don’t you? The feel of me inside you moving like no one else can. No one. Just me…just you…”

“Yesss,” Len hissed. No one but he and Barry had ever experienced this—in their timeline anyway, so far—and it was them, just them, with nothing to come between them. “Barry…come on, kid, make me come…”

Barry took that as a worthy challenge immediately, the vibrations seeming to increase, his pace picking up behind Len and in the palm of his hand, until Len was overrun. He cried out affirmations and Barry’s name, and “Scarlet!” and “fuck, kid!” more times than he could count, until at last he came in Barry’s hand feeling buzzed and tingling and definitely dehydrated. 

Barry followed after him moments later, pulling free to spill against his back. They huffed, breathing in ragged sync together, until Barry collapsed forward onto him, apparently not caring about the mess there. For a moment it felt so nice to lie in contented exhaustion against the table and each other. But when Barry pulled away, and out of the corner of Len’s eye he saw Barry reach his dirty hand up to wipe clean on the parka, Len snatched up the kid’s wrist. 

“Don’t you dare!” he hissed, entirely serious in his threatening tone. “Not…the parka.”

Barry chuckled, but when Len turned his head to glare at him, he obeyed, holding his hand up in surrender. “We’re a mess though. Guess I should help do something about that huh, so the sacred parka stays unsoiled?” 

Cheeky brat, Len thought, with nothing but adoration as he felt a sudden lurch in his gut, and in the next moment found himself pushed against the cool tile of his shower, the water already on, a lukewarm temperature, not quite cold but not warm either, which was a blessing with how overheated he felt. Barry seemed eager to clean them both up by running his hands all over Len’s body until any remaining mess had disappeared down the drain, and Len was panting from too much attention being given to his already over-sensitized skin. 

“Some of us…don’t bounce back as quickly as you do, kid,” he said. “Give me a break here.” Not that he really minded having Barry’s hands all over him at any given time, but he might pass out from further stimulation. 

There came Barry’s giggle again, and his body and hands stilled, though he brought his face close to Len and kissed him, deep and messy under the spray of water. That Len could handle as his heartrate slowed, a rekindled tangling of tongues, sliding his own hands around Barry’s waist to pull him in close and just feel his body there against him. Just holding someone’s naked body, kissing them, not needing to do anything more than that—though being perfectly satisfied that they had—was an intimacy Len would never get used to. And he didn’t really mind that. He didn’t mind anything about Barry Allen in his life. Especially the kid’s dirty mouth. 

“Scarlet…you have my head buzzing with all sorts of ideas for getting back at you for tonight.” 

“Back at me?” Barry said, amused, wrapping his arms around Len’s neck and holding him tight as he kissed down his neck. “It sure sounded like you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh I did. But as always with you, Barry, I need to up my game. You are a lucky man I’m such a creative thinker.” He arched his neck back as Barry chuckled against his skin, vibrating there in an entirely different way. “Shit…you’re going to be the death of me, kid.”

“Never,” Barry growled, and rocked against him, maybe half hard while Len had almost fully dwindled. The kid was insatiable. Until a rumble from his stomach broke the connection. 

“And there’s our cue,” Len said, sliding a hand down to Barry’s ass and swatting it playfully. “Better get out of the shower, get dressed, and get some dinner in you. Then we can find some awful movie to watch and pass out on the sofa.”

“That sounds…awesome,” Barry said. 

It was funny how something Len might have done alone several weeks back, that had often left him with a feeling of being empty and lonely, could be everything he ever wanted when he got to share it with Barry. Not that he didn’t deserve and enjoy his alone time, but it was different when being alone was a choice instead of a mandate. 

They finished rinsing off, Len changed into something soft and comfortable—jeans and a heather grey sweater—and left Barry to choose some clothing for himself while he went out to clean up the mess they’d made of the main room. He checked to be sure his parka hadn’t been sullied—he didn’t care if Barry teased him, the parka was sacred—wiped the table and floor beneath it clean for good measure, and was just gathering up the rest of his discarded Cold gear from the floor, wondering what Barry was doing taking so long just choosing clothes…when the door opened. 

“Mick,” Len said, surprised to see his friend. “I thought you were staying across town.”

“I am,” Mick ground out. “Forgot something here. Why?” He eyed Len critically and the way he was holding his Cold sweater, pants, and what was obviously underwear. Then he turned his head at the sound of a distant closet door closing, before looking back at Len with a glare. “That better be Flash.” 

“Who else would it be?” Len frowned at him. 

Barry appeared from the bedroom in a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, all smiles. “Mick!” he exclaimed when he saw Heat Wave standing just inside the door. “Uh, hi! I didn’t know, I…I mean, I didn’t…hear you come in.” He scratched the back of his head and blushed, going even darker when he saw that Len was still holding some telling signs of them having stripped recently, and then glanced across the room and remembered his own discarded pile of clothes. 

Mick nodded to himself in seeming satisfaction. “Just getting some tools I left for keeping my gun up to snuff, Flash, no need to get flustered. Didn’t realize you two ran off together after bagging Boomerang. Should have known better.”

“Yeah, you should have.” Len eyed Mick right back, because did his friend actually think he would fool around on Barry so recently after making things up to him and becoming a couple? Or at all for that matter?

Barry’s phone rang before anything more awkward could commence, and he flashed across the room to where he’d left his pants to answer it. “Cisco? You…wait what?” He blushed again, and Len could only imagine the conversation given Barry’s response of, “No, you’re not…interrupting anything. Though thank you for waiting a while before calling,” he muttered not nearly soft enough under his breath. “What is it?” He proceeded to wave in apology at both of them before disappearing back into the bedroom to take the call. 

Len crossed the room to Barry’s clothes—he’d forgotten about them as well—and gathered them into his arms with his own to deposit in the bedroom, when he turned back to find Mick right in his face. The pyro looked all sorts of menacing and looming with his extra inch in height on Len. Len could never be intimated by his friend, even when they were the most at odds with each other, but it was still startling. 

“Don’t screw this up,” Mick growled at him. 

It took a moment for Len’s brain to catch up with this confrontation. Clutching the pile of clothes in his arms, he looked to the bedroom where he could hear Barry’s voice faintly talking with Cisco, before looking back at Mick with a frown. “Are you serious right now? Whose friend are you?” 

Mick leaned into him further, and Len nearly toppled back when he hit the arm of the sofa behind him. “Thanks to your efforts…everyone’s,” he said, like a threat, but with a touch of trepidation in his eyes. “I know how you are, how you get. Being with that kid makes you downright tolerable. He saved your life, Len. He…listens.” Mick cringed at the way the admission proved he wasn’t only vying for this for Len’s sake. 

Len relaxed. Most people didn’t understand that Mick Rory had three very basic settings. Barely contained embers smoldering, waiting to erupt; the eruption itself, which was almost impossible to contain or calm down; and the very seldom seen warm, fuzzy teddy bear side. 

Okay, so that wasn’t the most accurate way to put it, but it was comparatively true. Mick had a softer side, it was just maybe closer to rounded edges when the rest of him was so sharp. 

“You really like the kid, huh?” Len said. He’d hoped for as much, but had often wondered if Mick was only playing along for his and Lisa’s sake, and because he got to spend time with a pair of men who could set themselves on fire at whim. 

Mick leaned back, shrugged. “He’s not so bad. None of them are. Not like the cops we’ve dealt with in the past. Not like other partners we’ve had to watch our backs around. It’s different with Team ColdFlash”—Len tried not to cringe at even Mick using that term now—“I like…being this.” 

Well shit. Len had clearly underestimated his friend. He dumped the clothing on the sofa. “You know none of this would have to change just because something came between me and Barry.” 

“But I like that part too,” Mick said, and then frowned harder, like he didn’t know how to allow such tender emotion for longer than a moment. So he stepped up closer to Len again and said, “So don’t fuck it up, huh? No sleeping around or hurting the kid. Don’t go pulling a…you, and push him away.” 

“Or what? You’ll fry me?” Len smirked. 

Mick smirked right back. They’d danced this dance before, set against each other as much as they were side by side. They never took it too far, never really risked seriously hurting the other, though there had always been a bit of a guessing game in the past over whether or not they would. Now they didn’t get on each other’s nerves as much, because they had a whole crew around them to keep them in check. To be backup. To be friends. 

Before the comradery between them could stretch too long, Barry returned, flipping his phone closed. “Nothing to worry about, just…Cisco stuff,” he said with a bright smile. “Hey, Mick, I’m glad you’re here though. I keep forgetting to ask. Lisa said something about you making awesome burgers, and we wanted to ask if you’d run the kitchen for the next family dinner night. We were going to invite everyone—like everyone, everyone—and probably invade Stein’s house to accommodate. You in?”

Mick turned around to face Barry looking honestly shocked. He almost never looked shocked. He usually jumped straight to pissed, or at least looked pissed while trying to sort something out. “Martin’s okay with that?” he asked in a low voice.

“Totally,” Barry said, “I asked him first when we thought of the idea—Iris came up with it when we were talking to Lisa—since there are so many of us, you know? Don’t worry, we won’t leave it all to you. I’m great for manual labor in the kitchen, right, Len?” He came up to stand with them, completely relaxed, no strangeness at all for his part, being in a Rogue safe house, alone, with Captain Cold and Heat Wave. Not anymore. 

Mick straightened. He had changed back at S.T.A.R. Labs too, in cleaner cargos than his smudged Heat Wave gear, and a black shirt. “Sure…I guess. But I got a certain way I make ‘em.”

“Of course, we’ll all pitch in for supplies,” Barry said. “I’ll help with groceries too. I tend to, uhh…need to eat more than everyone else anyway.” He scratched his head again, then brought it down to his stomach as if in pain. “And speaking of… Pizza?” He looked to Len hopefully. “Wait…can we get pizza ordered here?” He looked around the safe house, suddenly remembering that it was really a hidden little apartment inside a warehouse that outside the door to this area looked abandoned. 

“There’s a place not too far we can walk to,” Len said. Good pizza too, even if a slightly rougher neighborhood. No one would bother Len though, not around here, and no one would dare rob any of the places they saw Len frequent. It was an unwritten rule. “We can get some slices faster that way. Mick,” he turned to his friend, “want to join us?” 

Barry brightened with a welcome smile when Mick glanced at him skeptically, like he shouldn’t be intruding. But since neither minded the idea, and Len knew Mick hadn’t eaten anything yet tonight either, he nodded. 

“Let me grab my tools,” Mick said. “Then after we eat, I can leave you two lovebirds alone.” 

He brushed past them toward the back of the room, where he’d stashed his things some time ago. Barry looked at Len with a mild blush in Mick’s wake, though what he was flustered about now, Len wasn’t so sure. Maybe all of it, having come back here and barely making it into the door before succumbing to dirty acts. Maybe the timing of Mick and Cisco having almost but thankfully not quite interrupted them. Maybe just being here, about to have dinner with former enemies. 

Len reached across the short space between them and hooked the back of Barry’s neck, pulling him forward in a stumble that still managed to bring their lips together without any gnashing of teeth. Barry sagged into him easily after that, the kiss brief, sweet—nothing like their encounter on the table. But that was the best part about being with Barry Allen: Len got everything he wanted, the sweet and the rough, the danger and the security of being…loved. 

“Am I gonna have to sit between you two,” Mick’s voice broke in on the moment. It sounded amused, which Barry wasn’t as used to from Mick, but Len was, when he was in his calmer teddy bear state. He better make sure he never actually let it slip that he considered calm, joking Mick to be a teddy bear, or he might end up missing a limb. 

“You assume that would stop us,” Len winked at Barry when they pulled apart—at Barry, not even glancing at Mick. “Who’s to say what might be going on underneath the table?”

“Len!” Barry blushed darker and looked as far away from Mick as he could. 

Mick just laughed. “You bring out the best in him, kid,” he said as he approached them again, grabbing the back of Barry’s head in his large hand and ruffling his hair in a gesture that made Barry look up pleasantly surprised. “The most annoying too maybe,” Mick glanced at Len with a smirk, “but I’ll survive it.”

Now Len just had to make sure he never screwed things up with Barry…so he survived it too. Mick was even scarier than Joe West, it turned out. And a damn good friend. 

Len and Barry got their shoes back on, Mick dropped his tools into his car outside the warehouse, and they walked the few blocks to the pizza place, all the while chatting about their first official extended family dinner night with Mick making burgers. It was as surreal and wonderful as life could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heart Mick so much! There you are, LiselleVelvet, since you asked for me to slip the Mick shovel talk in. I'm planning on adding more and more of the other characters to the epilogue as we go, as I have plans for other things...like what the Rogues do for day jobs, how things are working on S.T.A.R. Labs with Wells gone, etc., thanks to comments from Wolves_of_Innistrad. So stay tuned! And thank you all!
> 
> And I forgot to say that there are totally nods to both 73 Seconds and Saints and Sinners (the fic) in this chapter, when I mention the whole Saints and Sinners (the bar) scenario.


	27. EPILOGUE: Henry Allen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry calmly watches the change in Barry from one week to the next until he fears what this Captain Cold character might be trying to do to his son. The real answer is something he never expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy ColdFlash week, all! Since I tend to be busier during the work week, I wanted to post this today, despite it being Michael Snart day, since I screwed up and posted my Michael Snart chapter Friday (bah!). Everyone, please, take the time now to check out ALL of the amazing fics written for ColdFlash Week: http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Coldflash_Week

Barry had been coming to see Henry almost once a week, at least once a month, since he was first in prison, but never before had he noticed such a glaring difference in his son’s countenance from one week to the next. 

The previous week, Barry had been drained, sullen, and distant after the events facing Eobard Thawne, the man Henry now new was the true murderer of his wife, who had taken all of these years away from him after first taking his love, and who had tried to ruin Barry’s life and in turn kill him before the end. 

Henry had never felt so helpless being behind bars as he did watching his son become a superhero, facing danger and death every day. Being a CSI had at least been a safer option than becoming a detective like Joe West, but there was nothing safe or benign about being The Flash. 

Henry didn’t know how he felt after Barry explained that his wife’s murderer was now dead, but ‘peace’ wasn’t the word. Relief maybe, but only slightly, because Barry’s haunted face didn’t make the events feel anything like closure. Barry didn’t go into detail that day, but whatever it was he had intended to do to be rid of the Reverse Flash, as the man seemed to be called, had instead ended with Detective Thawne killing his own would-be descendant, which also ended any chance they had at proving Henry’s innocence.

Barry had exuded sorrow over that, spouting apology after apology that Henry did not need to hear. None of this had ever been Barry’s fault. It didn’t matter if some crazed man from the future had come back in time because of Barry; being someone worth idolizing as a hero so revered and up on a pedestal that Eobard felt the need to tear him down didn’t blemish Barry’s character, it just made Henry prouder. 

He had long ago accepted that the real killer would never be caught, that he was never going to be absolved of his wife’s murder, and that was okay, because his son was safe, and he knew the truth. Henry had spent the last fifteen years managing to get by. He could handle however much longer it took before he got to taste freedom, even if that day never came. 

So he was happy when, a week later, Barry’s entire persona had changed. He looked rejuvenated, excitable in a way Henry was more used to and loved to see in his son. Apparently, it had been one hell of a week. 

Barry talked hushed and fast about an encounter with Captain Cold—Leonard Snart, Henry remembered from the man’s own time in Iron Heights, who it didn’t surprise him at all had embraced a more theatrical alias—and how an accident had caused him to forget his identity. Barry seemed hesitant to go into much detail over what happened in the days that followed, but confessed that Snart had reformed, or at least planned to reform after spending most of the week in Barry’s care. 

The thief was at S.T.A.R. Labs now, being tended to after being frozen with his own cold gun, which Barry had rescued him from. It sounded like a thrilling adventure, with danger and suspense Henry wasn’t sad to have missed out on, but that had concluded with a happy ending. At least Henry hoped it would be as happy in the long run as Barry seemed to think, but when he pressed, it seemed even Joe was thinking positively about this development. 

The following week, Barry was anxious, feet tapping on the other side of the partition. Henry couldn’t hear them tapping, but he recognized the way Barry’s body bounced, his eyes alight, and an ever-present grin on his face. Everything was going well with Snart and his friends. No sign of betrayal, his leg healing nicely. Barry talked so much about Snart, they barely had time to catch up on non-Flash related things before it was time for him to go. 

The next week was much the same, Henry thought, though the anxiousness had subsided somewhat, a gentler rhythm in Barry’s fidgeting, like he was finally calming down and settling into how his life had changed. He was still a superhero with powers, but now one of his worst villains and a handful of others were on his side, helping him and Detectives West and Thawne clean up the city. 

“He’s not back on his feet yet, really, but Caitlin says he’s doing really well, and his leg should heal soon and almost be back to normal. He might have a permanent limp though, but hopefully not a bad one…” Barry rambled on and on about Snart, and Henry let him. 

Just seeing Barry, talking with him, was always more than Henry would ever ask for. Anything that made Barry light up like this had to be a good thing. And it should come as no surprise to him that his boy would throw himself all in to redeeming a man others might have given up on. 

“He’s even willing to try and talk down some of the others, you know, the metas he helped set free before? He figures they owe him, and he can probably convince them to at least play nicer with the police until we sort out a better way to detain them legally. I’m actually really happy looking back now that the whole Pipeline thing was a bust and Len stopped us from sending them to Oliver’s island.”

Henry was too. That plan had never sat well with him. And if Snart—Len, Barry called him so casually—was pushing Barry down a more moral path than the opposite direction within their new arrangement, how could Henry find fault with that?

It was the next week that Henry started to wonder if he was missing something. Barry seemed somber, drained again, anxious somewhat but in a different way, like he was frustrated and aching because of it. Henry hadn’t seen Barry quite like this since when he was in the worst of his pining over Iris. He knew that couldn’t be the case now. Barry talked only happily of Iris and Detective Thawne, wistful maybe, but never out of jealousy anymore. 

“Are you seeing someone, Barry?” Henry asked. 

“Wh-What?” Barry sputtered, nearly dropping the phone in a magnificently clumsy display. “No, why…why would you think that? Who would I be…seeing?”

He’d inherited Henry’s almost complete inability to lie, which had always been a blessing. “Is there someone you wish you were seeing? Someone new? I know it’s not Iris anymore.”

“Of course not,” Barry dismissed the notion of Iris with complete sincerity only to immediately drift his eyes to the small tabletop in front of him. “There’s maybe…someone, but…I haven’t really wanted to say anything until I know where things are going to go. It’s complicated. We’re working together tonight actually, for the first time, and I’m hoping…” He grinned goofily and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. He glanced up at Henry sheepishly. “I don’t know if you’ll approve. Joe barely does. No, Joe really doesn’t, but he’s trying to be supportive? Just give me one more week, Dad. He keeps pushing me away, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s not interested or just…hesitant.”

“He?” Henry prompted. He knew Barry wasn’t particular in that regard, and he’d never minded hearing about Barry’s crushes and dates over the years, whoever they had been, but men were rarer. Women always had to compare to Iris somehow, but men had to catch Barry’s eye in a completely different way. 

“Yeah,” Barry said with a smile. “He’s really great, Dad. He can be really great. I just need to figure out where we stand. It’s not like with Iris. I know he…I mean, I think he wants me…” His eyebrows scrunched as he looked away again. “There were these nights we stayed up talking for hours. I’ve never really done that with anyone. We know so many things about each other now that few, if any, others do. Sometimes, when he looks at me, I…” His mouth quirked with this uninhibited smile of pure bliss and—wow, that was love. Barry had been doing an amazing job of hiding that expression over the weeks. “I know it’s sudden, but it’s what I always wanted, Dad.”

With Iris, Henry’s mind supplied, but that was never meant to be. Maybe this time it was. Maybe this man was the one Barry and been waiting for, always pining for a storybook romance and thinking for so long he could find it with someone who didn’t see that ending in him. But it didn’t click for Henry who this new man could possibly be, even with all the evidence, not at that moment. 

“That’s great, kiddo,” he said. “I’m happy for you. Keep me posted, huh? I want to hear all about this guy once you’re ready to tell me about him.”

“Y-Yeah, Dad…of course.” And if Barry seemed nervous about that, well, who wouldn’t be when introducing someone to their father for the first time?

It was a week and a half later before Barry was able to visit him again, but the day before their planned meeting, Henry found himself cornered by another inmate. He was usually left alone, as he tended to keep to himself, never made any trouble, had made few friends and certainly made an effort not to make any enemies, but suddenly a large, burly man boxed him in out in the yard, away from view of any guards. 

Henry’s instincts were to negotiate, diffuse the situation as quickly as possible. “Whatever you want from me, I’m sure we can talk our way through it,” he said, raising his hands in appeal. He had many privileges others didn’t after fifteen years of good behavior, and he never wanted to spoil that, even if there was no chance of parole someday. 

The other inmate remained stoic, calculating, but didn’t move any closer or seem ready for a fight. “I got a message for you, Allen. From Captain Cold.”

Henry’s hands dropped. “Snart?” Weren’t he and Barry on good terms now, his friends working alongside The Flash while he recovered from his leg injury? Only it should be almost healed by now, judging by Barry’s accounts, and he’d probably be ready to hit the streets again soon…

 _“We’re working together tonight actually, for the first time…”_ Barry’s words from the previous week echoed in his mind, from when he’d switched topics and began talking about the young man he was interested in. Only maybe it wasn’t a ‘young’ man as Henry had suspected. 

He lost his breath at the realization, and had to force his attention back on the man in front of him. 

“Looks like you’re getting out,” the inmate said. “Be ready. And don’t let anything slip to your kid.” He held Henry’s gaze with a steely glower before walking away. 

Dread washed over Henry. It was Captain Cold. Barry was in love with Captain Cold. And now…what? The villain himself was going to break Henry out of prison? They’d never crossed paths directly when in Iron Heights at the same time. If he was doing this for Barry’s sake, didn’t he know it wasn’t what Barry would want, that it wasn’t what Henry wanted? If he had, he could have had Barry whisk him out of jail months ago. 

Worse, Henry wondered if it was all part of some ploy, that the Rogue wasn’t reformed or doing this as a favor to Barry, but with sinister motivations instead, to use him as leverage against The Flash. Why else would he send that warning through the mouth of someone so intimating, and with the mandate not to let Barry know what was going on? What had Barry gotten himself into? How had this man twisted things to steal Barry’s heart like he had stolen so many lesser things during his criminal career?

Henry didn’t sleep much that night. The inmate who had spoken to him was ever within viewing distance when he wasn't in his cell, watching him like a sentinel. 

When he went to meet with Barry the next afternoon, Henry was tense, stiffer than usual to counter Barry’s excitable fidgeting. At least Barry’s bouncing legs and wild gestures were from enthusiasm and joy again, only Henry couldn’t respond with similar glee when his son finally confessed why. 

“I know it must sound crazy, Dad, but I am so happy,” Barry said, after explaining the missing details from the past several weeks. 

More had happened while Captain Cold was at S.T.A.R. Labs than just a villain reforming, and now, after weeks of taking things slowly, Barry and ‘Len’ had finally gotten everything out in the open between them this past weekend and were officially together—a couple. Snart had even had family dinner at Joe’s home. 

This man was a menace, a con artist clearly, and he’d conned Henry’s son and even those watching over him. A darker plot was afoot, and Barry had no idea, didn’t suspect ill-intent in the slightest. What could Henry do? What would Snart do if he failed to play along, if he told Barry his fears now, explained about his encounter with the other inmate and his ‘message’ from Captain Cold? 

It was too big a risk. All Henry could do now was wait things out, and hope, pray, that his son wouldn’t be in too deep, or hurt too badly when it all went down. Because no matter what Snart really had planned, Henry would not let anyone hurt his son if he could do something about it. 

“I’m happy for you, Barry, but please…be careful.”

“I know, Dad,” Barry said so dismissively, so trusting. “It’s really okay. I have a whole team watching my back out there, and with Len now too, you really don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

No. Now Henry had reason to worry more than ever. 

XXXXX

Len stared nonplussed at Mick. “You contacted Heinrich to deliver the message to Allen,” he stated more than asked, but had to repeat it if only to believe what he’d just heard. 

“Who else do we got in Iron Heights right now we trust enough for something like this?” Mick shrugged. 

Len clenched his fists to keep his anger to a mild simmer. “Mick…Heinrich’s loyal, sure, always good for a job when we need muscle, but he’s got no mind for subtly. He’ll have Allen thinking I’m planning a breakout or something.”

“So?”

The simmer kicked up a notch to a low boil. “Because it’s not a breakout, Mick. I just wanted him keeping a closer eye out. The last thing he needs is for some stupid shit to go down around him when he’s finally about to be released. Now he might be the one doing something stupid if he starts suspecting…” Len shook his head when Mick continued staring with a furrowed brow of confusion like he just didn’t get the issue. Of course when it finally did click for Mick how this could be bad, he just scowled harder and crossed his arms all defensive rather than apologize. 

“You want me to contact him again?”

“No. No, Mick, it’s fine. We’re nearly set now anyway. As long as Heinrich’s keeping a close eye on Allen, and he passed along the message to not let Barry know anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I made that part clear,” Mick assured him—however little an assurance anything was at this point. “Nothing’s gonna spoil the surprise for Flash.” 

“Good. Thank you,” he said more deliberately, because he could tell by Mick’s stance how close he was to boiling over in much more hostile ways than Len had been about to.

Assuaged that he’d done mostly okay at this job Len had given him, Mick grinned and smacked Len on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Len. Who’d have thought, huh? You helping get someone outta jail by legal means.”

“Certainly neither of us,” Len said, and had to share at least a mild grin with his friend. Strange times and all. 

“I told you, you should have just left things alone and surprised Barry’s dad too,” Cisco said as he walked up to them, multi-tasking hard at work on his tablet. 

Cisco had told Len that, but the closer they’d come to making this work, the more Len had grown anxious that something would happen to Allen in the final days. Barry had suffered through enough heartache for his family. 

Len’s father belonged behind bars, but Henry Allen deserved to see his son without glass separating them each week. The idea of someone innocent rotting in prison had never sat well with Len. A few people free in the world who maybe shouldn’t be were one thing, but someone imprisoned who didn’t belong there, well, that was where the justice system was really broken in Len’s mind. 

Cisco had stared at him for a long while after he confessed that, but the kid had only been too eager to jump to Len’s aid when he explained his plan for getting Allen free. 

After learning the full details around Eobard Thawne, and that his body, reverted to its natural form and no longer taking on the guise of Harrison Wells, was secure in S.T.A.R. Labs, he hadn’t been able to leave the idea alone. And he'd had a lot of time to himself while waiting for his leg to heal. 

They had DNA from Nora Allen’s crime scene with unknown origins, but now they had a source. All they had to do to get the case reopened was present that evidence. 

“It might not be enough,” Joe had said when they brought him in on it. “All it would prove is that Thawne was there, and with it coming from a dead body, one with no past, no identity, there'd be too much suspicion. If we’d gotten a confession out of him…”

“He would have had the wrong face, Detective,” Len said, “at least if the rest of events played out the same. How would that have helped? Then we couldn’t even use the body we have, other than switching to the shriveled remains of the real Wells, which would have raised even more questions, and destroyed the man’s reputation. I doubt Barry or his father would have appreciated that.”

Joe nodded in agreement.

“But we’ll need more evidence, you’re saying?" Cisco pouted. 

“I assumed as much anyway,” Len said, catching Joe’s stare. He’d called the pair over to his apartment during the second week of his more laid up recovery, and sat with his leg propped while the two men sat across from him on the sofa. “Detective, the rest of what I propose we do to give the DA ample reason to reopen this case may involve a few…illegal endeavors,” he held Joe’s gaze as it narrowed, “but I assure you, it’ll get the job done, and by the end of this, an innocent man will finally go free. Isn’t that the crux of the matter?”

Cisco looked to Joe, but Joe kept his eyes centered on Len. Finally, he said, “How illegal?”

A confession was no longer possible, but it wasn’t a clincher in cases on its own anyway. Now, it was about volume. Now, they had a body, a face, even without an identity. So they just needed Cisco to create him one. Then the man needed contacts, witnesses to place him near the crime scene and corroborate the evidence of DNA as something more sinister than coincidence. With enough things adding up, between the three of them, Len was certain they could make it work. 

Well, four of them. He’d called Mick in on things for Heinrich’s part, though he’d been hoping for someone a little more user friendly to speak with Allen. And really, it was five of them, if Len was being honest. 

“How’s it looking, Gideon?” Cisco asked his tablet once Mick walked away, where he had since rerouted the computer from the future for quick conversations rather than having to go into Thawne’s secret room each time. This left Len and Cisco alone in the main area of the labs, finalizing the last steps of the plan that Joe was working hard to get into place from the precinct. 

“Right on schedule, Mr. Ramon,” the feminine voice replied. “According to the new timeline, Henry Allen is scheduled to be released from prison in a few weeks.”

“Well, the future’s on our side,” Cisco grinned. 

Len eyed the tablet with distrust. “You can’t tell me this wouldn’t be easy to abuse.”

“Are you saying you’d abuse it?” Cisco challenged him. 

“Aren’t we abusing it right now?” Len challenged back. 

Cisco shrugged. “It’s for a good cause. And besides, we already agreed, after righting this last wrong of Thawne’s—at least as much as we can without actually rewriting history—we’re disabling Gideon. No one wants to live out a self-fulfilling prophesy. If Barry’s meant to create her, he still will, and we’ll get to talk with her again someday. Plus I totally need to be in on this. I mean, can you imagine Barry creating something like this without me?”

“Actually, Mr. Ramon—” Gideon began, but Len spoke over her. 

“Nothing about the future unless we specifically ask, Gideon.”

“Understood,” she replied. “My apologies, Mr. Allen.”

That stopped Len cold. “Gideon… you’re aware I’m not Barry, right?” 

“Of course. In this time, you are known as Leonard Snart.” 

Len furrowed his brow at the way she’d just worded that. “So why did you call me Mr. Allen?”

“Because my records indicate that current changes to the timeline will eventually affect your naming convention.”

“What?” Cisco sputtered while Len gaped at the tablet. 

“In the future timeline, Leonard Snart will eventually be known as Leonard Allen. Would you prefer I revert to calling you Mr. Snart instead?” 

Cisco made no attempt to pick his jaw up off the floor as he looked at Len. After all, he and Barry had been together for less than a week. If it hadn’t been for Cisco’s prodding last Saturday after the disaster of his and Barry’s sparring session, they might never have gotten together. But apparently, one day, Len would finally have a reason to leave his father’s name behind forever, and he really couldn’t be anything but pleased by that thought. 

“No,” Len said, “thank you, Gideon. How about we stick with Len, so there’s no confusion.”

“Of course, Len. My apologies again if I said too much, but your orders did say to reveal future events if specifically asked for.”

Cisco choked back a snicker. 

“That they did, Gideon,” Len said, elbowing Cisco in the side. “Keep working, kid. We’re not there yet, even if the future is telling us we’re on the right path here. And you’re sure…you’re sure it was the right call to leave Barry in the dark about all this?” Nothing grated on Len more than revealing insecurity, but being truthful with Barry was one of the things he’d promised the speedster, that he’d never lie to him, about anything.

“Totally, dude,” Cisco shot him a knowing eyebrow raise. “After everything he’s been through, getting his hopes up before we knew for sure if this was going to work would have devastated him if it didn’t. Now, once everything’s in place, it’ll be the most amazing surprise he never saw coming. It’s not really lying, just waiting until the right moment to reveal the truth.”

Len grinned at the kid. “You’d make an excellent evil mastermind, you know.”

“Don’t tempt me, Cold,” Cisco said with the usual surge of confidence he wore around Len these days. “Because you would be the first one crushed under my heel.”

“Oh really?” Len loomed over him with as much menace as he could muster, which was still fairly impressive most days, even if he didn’t mean it. 

Cisco deflated for maybe a moment before bouncing back. “Yeah, really. I’m majority shareholder of S.T.A.R. Labs now, you know? Think of all the power at my fingertips.”

“Wells’ will left his shares to you and Caitlin jointly,” Len reminded him. 

It had been a huge deal to discover that. After using Wells’ real body to prove to the board that he had passed away in a ‘freak accident’, his will had been called up shortly after, and while it had taken some time for the lawyers to go through it all, Team ColdFlash had discovered only just this week that Thawne—seeing as how the will was drawn up long after the real Wells’ demise—left everything to Cisco and Caitlin. 

He may have wanted to kill Barry and return home to a future where The Flash no longer existed, but it seemed he wouldn’t have killed Caitlin or Cisco if things had gone to plan. That didn’t change either of their opinions on him, and they almost would have refused the gift from such an evil source…if they didn’t really, really want to accept it, if only to continue providing Barry support with S.T.A.R. Labs’ backing. 

They still had the board of directors to deal with, and they had to focus more of their efforts on actual research more often, but both of them took that in stride. Thankfully, it seemed they knew Ray Palmer quite well, who Caitlin had contacted right away and gotten to promise he’d help them sort through a few of the more business related items they didn’t understand. 

“Same difference,” Cisco said. “At least Reverse Flash was good for something.”

Len shook his head and turned to head out of the room, but stopped in the doorway to offer Cisco another gauging, grateful look. “Thanks for this, kid. Really.”

“Please,” Cisco shrugged the whole thing off, as if he wasn’t a genius and a huge part of how they were about to save an innocent man from life in prison, “between you, me, and Joe, it’s child’s play. And it’s not like I wouldn’t want to do this for Barry anyway. But as a surprise from his new boyfriend? You are setting the bar way too high, man. Stop making the rest of us look bad.” He stuck out his tongue—actually stuck out his tongue at Len like some preteen brat. 

Len laughed the whole way to the elevators. It was finally all coming together. In a few weeks, Henry Allen would be a free man. 

XXXXX

Henry’s heartrate stuttered in nervous anticipation when he saw Joe West relieve the guard that normally kept watch during his visitations. Then his pulse skyrocketed when he watched a man in a tightly fit baseball cap slip in to speak with him instead of his son as expected. 

Henry recognized the man’s face once he sat. Those blue eyes were memorable after seeing them all over the news several times. Although lately…lately the news was saying something new, but Henry wasn’t sure he believed it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allen,” Snart said, calm and collected despite the slight hunch to keep his body and face hidden from the cameras. 

“Forgive me if I’m not sure I share the sentiment, Mr. Snart.” Henry eyed Joe at the door, who seemed relaxed enough, only slightly on guard since, even with a clean record now, it wouldn’t exactly look good for Snart to be seen here.

Snart nodded without rancor or disappointment. “Barry said you seemed skeptical. I imagine Heinrich didn’t help much with that. I asked our mutual friend, Mick Rory, to make sure a message was passed along to you so you’d be ready when the time came, keep your head down a little more than usual maybe, just in case. My apologies if some of that got lost in translation. This isn’t a breakout.”

Henry sat up straighter. “I figured that might be difficult considering Joe West is currently acting as your bodyguard. How did you manage to win him over, Snart? It’s only in recent months he actually starting trusting me.”

“We have an understanding,” Snart said. “And a good dozen people behind Joe at number one who would gladly see me dumped in the river if I ever so much as gave Barry a bad day. I simply want to offer you the chance to usurp his standing, sir, and take that spot for yourself.” He smiled, not quite a smirk but with the edge of one teasing his lips in self-satisfaction. “You’re being released today, Mr. Allen. Legally. And please…call me Len.”

“What?” The information didn’t immediately sink in. Henry looked to Joe again, who was also smiling. “How…?”

“A little elbow grease. A dead man from another time. Some very complicated science. And a few friends who owed me favors. All more than worth it to get your case reopened, and enough evidence to prove your wife was killed by someone else. It’s time to come home now, Mr. Allen. We came to take you to your son. And if you’d prefer to clean up a little first, change into something other than the clothes they’ll release you in, we can stop off at West’s home. Barry will be at the labs. He has no idea he gets to see you today.”

Something chipped away inside of Henry, something rusted over and jagged that he always tried so hard to keep Barry from seeing. Snart’s eyes betrayed nothing but earnest affection when he talked of Henry’s son. 

The other guard came back in with something for Joe to sign. It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t leverage. The insistence to not tell Barry had been to keep this as a surprise. 

“This is real,” Henry said like an exhale.

“It is. We—"

"You love Barry."

Snart hesitated but more in surprise that Henry had asked that particular question, though it hadn't come out as much of a question in the end. "I do. We’ll see you in a few minutes, Mr. Allen."

“Henry,” Henry corrected him, not doubting for a moment now that whatever love Barry felt for this man it was returned tenfold. The phone shook in his hand when he heard a voice call him away, to go back in for processing, so he could be released—finally released. “Thank you,” he said before hanging up, and the man looking back at him through the glass merely nodded. 

A few minutes later, Henry was in the passenger seat of Joe West’s car. 

XXXXX

“Dude, seriously, I am starved. Where is Len?” Barry asked from his perch on the countertop of the main console in the labs. He hovered over Cisco at the computer. They were supposed to meet for lunch. 

“He’s on his way, man, cool it. Have an energy bar.”

“Uck.” Barry made a disgusted face. Those were for emergencies only for a reason. “I thought he said noon. What was he up to this morning?”

“He, uhh…had an errand to take care of with Joe.”

“Joe? Len’s with Joe? That’s a frightening thought. Just the two of them?”

Cisco shrugged. He kept his attention on the computer screen, but he didn’t appear to be working. 

"Why are you avoiding looking at me?" Barry asked, leaning left to get more in Cisco's sightline.

Cisco flicked his eyes up for a brief second. "Your face is distracting."

"But you’re not doing anything." Barry could see the screen if he sat forward. Cisco had been looking at camera footage a second ago, hadn't he? But now his screen showed Flash suit schematics that he wasn't actually doing anything with.

"Because of your face, man, what did I just say?" Cisco said, his own face going red, voice shrill and body tense.

"What’s going on?" Barry hopped down from the console, crossing his arms in suspicion. 

“Nothing!” Cisco spun to face him.

“Cisco…”

“Hey, Scarlet, starving to death yet?” Len called as he entered, directly in front of Barry since he faced the main entrance into the labs. He wore dark jeans, a black button-down, and his navy trench coat that Barry had expressed multiple times was his favorite. The whole look was one of Barry’s favorites actually.

“What are you guys plotting?” Barry asked, tightening his arms and refusing to be swayed by how unfairly hot his boyfriend looked, or the confident swagger he had as he crossed the room toward Barry. Barry stepped back to deflect their usual greeting, which often included Len crowding in close and kissing Barry’s hairline. He had rights to be skeptical and wanted an explanation. 

Len sighed when he reached the console, keeping Cisco in his roller chair between them. “You need to work on your diversion skills, kid.” 

“Hey, I was doing fine,” Cisco scowled. “You’re late. Barry’s hunger pains don’t take as well to subterfuge. ”

Barry glanced between them both. “Well?”

Len didn’t appear upset with Cisco, more like fondly exasperated, confident still, and not at all worried that he was in trouble with Barry for keeping something from him. He tapped his fingers on the top of the console, and tilted his head back toward the entrance. “Just keep your attention there, Scarlet. I’m hoping you’ll forgive us this one.” 

Barry’s arms dropped as he grew increasingly more wary. What had they done? How did it involve Joe? Why were they sharing smiles now that made Barry very, very nervous? 

Nothing could have prepared him, however, for what actually came in through that door—or rather, who.

Barry heard voices first, Joe’s initially, then someone else. Someone familiar, but…it couldn’t be. He didn’t believe it even after his eyes took in the same truth his ears had already suspected. “Dad…?”

Henry Allen looked better than Barry last remembered seeing him, always through glass, in prison clothes, haunted and weary. Now he wore brand new slacks and a crisp white shirt, looking refreshed, almost carefree. The most recent memories of Barry’s where his father looked even remotely close to this was from over fifteen years ago. 

“Hey there, slugger,” Henry said, smiling warmly.

“We promise it wasn’t a breakout,” Joe added with a smirk at Len.

“I apologize again for Heinrich, Henry,” Len said—calling Barry’s dad by name. “That’s on me for asking Mick to pass along the info. I told Mick he owes you a beer.”

Henry laughed. “Now that’s my kind of apology.” His warm smile passed to Len just as easily, before he finished his trek to the console, to Barry, and Barry realized he wasn’t imagining this. 

When his dad finally got close enough, all the tension in Barry snapped and he surged forward at Flash speed, nearly toppling the man over in his haste to embrace him. 

“How…?” Barry gasped into his father’s shoulder. He squeezed as tightly as he could, and felt Henry squeeze just as firmly back. 

“The details are a bit complicated,” Henry said, “but I’m sure your friends can explain. The mastermind behind it all, though, isn’t the man I feared him to be. I’m sorry if I seemed unsupportive of your relationship, Barry. I judged Len before I knew him. When all this time, before even meeting me, he was working to get me home to you.”

“Len?” Barry blinked tears out of his eyes when he pulled from his father’s arms. He looked to Len still at the console, arm resting casually, a subtle smile on his face. 

Cisco’s grin was hardly subtle by comparison, or Joe’s. Joe came to stand beside Len, the three of them representing so many different parts of Barry’s life as he took them all in, Joe and Len behind the console, Cisco still sitting at it, and there in front of Barry was his own father, finally out of prison. 

“We can explain the finer details over lunch,” Len said. “That is, if you don’t mind your father joining us, Barry?”

Barry huffed a laugh, almost choking on the shock, on the tears thick in his throat. He zipped to Cisco and hoisted him out of his chair for a lightning fast hug, then flashed to Joe, embracing him as tightly as he had his father, and finally blurred with such impressive speed over to Len that he rocked the former villain back on his heels as he pulled him in close. 

“I want to hear all about it, and yes, Dad is totally coming to lunch, and oh my god I can’t believe you actually did this, I don’t even care how, I just…” He took a breath from his gushing rant to pull back from Len and just look at him, at the sweet, loving expression Len wore, that Barry never would have thought existed on Captain Cold, but there it was, all for him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank him yet,” Henry called over. “There’s quite a bit of third degree I can finally unleash on you about all this,” he glanced around the labs, “so why don’t we go grab that lunch.”

“Joe?” Barry turned to his adopted father. 

“Sadly, I have to get back to work, but we’ll do dinner tonight. Where do you think Henry’s staying until we get him back on his feet?” He patted Barry’s shoulder. 

“And while I would love to be a really weird forth wheel to the boyfriend meeting the father scenario…I’ll pass,” Cisco said as he settled into his chair again after his whirlwind Barry hug. “Start coming up with your first order for Team ColdFlash family dinner night, Mr. Allen. It’s a thing we do now. You totally get dibs on the next meal plan.”

“Team ColdFlash?” Henry repeated, meeting Barry and Len at the entrance as they headed off behind Joe to leave the labs. 

Barry still wondered if his father would suddenly vanish like a mirage right before his eyes, but this was real, his family even more complete and still growing, and all because of someone he had once thought of as an enemy. 

He slid his hand into Len’s as they headed for the elevators, relishing in the cool, firm contact as their fingers laced together. “The concept is still a work in progress,” Barry said, thinking of how the team fought together and rotated patrols, but still had a few kinks to work out, “the name though…” he glanced at Len, at his faintly smiling boyfriend who had performed a miracle somehow to make this possible, “that…is definitely here to stay.” 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wolves_of_Innistrad, you asked about how things are working for S.T.A.R. Labs now, so there you go, and hopefully I'll fit in what the Rogues are doing soon. They aren't ONLY doing hero work. 
> 
> Who asked about Henry Allen? I can't remember, but I am so glad I fit him in here, and the direction this chapter took. Poor Mick, lol. I just made up the big muscly guy, so just an OC with a name, but I couldn't resist having some miscommunication there and Henry on edge. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one. Next Epilogue chapter will be movie night, with some ahem, naughtiness, and then a somewhat angsty chapter, both of which I hope to get done and posted before the show returns. 
> 
> Thank you all so much!


	28. EPILOGUE: Saints and Sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry visits Len at Saint and Sinners to a startling realization, and the S.T.A.R. Labs crew has a movie night with shenanigans of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delen, my dear, you brought up Romancing the Stone and inspired this little gem. 
> 
> Granvas is to blame for the barely there ColdThallen. 
> 
> RedHead gets any and all credit for Hartley, because she made me love him. Thanks to both her and LiselleVelvet for helping me remember who knew Barry's identity. 
> 
> All of you are awesome, and such great inspiration as I struggle to get a few more chapters done before the show comes back, and whoa, look at the length of this one, and way ahead of schedule. It helped that I worked from home today a little under the weather, and had some extra writing time. :-) I owe so many of you comments for reading the awesome fics out there, which I swear I'll catch up on now that this is done! I promise at least ONE more chapter before the show returns. And more to come after that. :-)

Barry had only been to Saints and Sinners a handful of times since Len bought it. It was a simple, legal way for Len, Lisa, and Mick to earn a living. Hero business didn’t pay much—nothing, actually, and had zero benefits other than the knowledge of having done a good deed—and it gave them an extra excuse to help fix up an otherwise bad neighborhood, really hammer it home that Captain Cold, Golden Glider, and Heat Wave were reformed and only donned their Rogue gear for good. 

The name of the bar staying the same didn’t surprise Barry. It was its own pun, more so now than ever before. Barry was actually a little fond of the place, though Len made a clear distinction that he wanted to keep his business life, his personal life, and Team ColdFlash separate. 

“There’s nothing glamorous about making an honest living, kid. I can take you out to much better places.”

Barry figured Len didn’t like him hovering whenever he was doing more normal, domestic things, and that was fine, Barry didn’t need to have his hands in everything Len did. They saw each other almost every day, and practically lived at each other’s various places of dwelling more than either slept alone. Still, Barry liked the idea of Len tending bar, sleeves rolled up, chatting with customers. It was deceptively normal and somehow incredibly sexy too. 

So it only seemed natural for Barry to pick Len up from work rather than meet him at S.T.A.R. Labs later for their date night. This way Barry could flash Len to the labs. Len loved when Barry whisked him away. They had movie night planned with the other Team ColdFlash couples—Cisco and Lisa, Iris and Eddie, Caitlin and Ronnie. Felicity and Oliver might have joined if they were in Central more often. They really needed to work on more inter-hero group visitations. 

A night off from patrol for everyone would be good for them, though of course they were on call in case Joe called in with anything the CCPD couldn’t handle. Thai food sounded wonderful, and the films Romancing the Stone and The Jewel of the Nile (which Barry had only seen the first of, and according to Len, that was fine, because the sequel paled in comparison). If they were up for a third movie they’d finish the night with War of the Roses, though technically that one wasn’t connected to the other two, just had the same cast. 

Caitlin had brought that one up, to which Cisco replied, “Ronnie, you might wanna keep your eyes open if your wife is this eager to watch a movie about a married couple trying to kill each other.”

Caitlin shot him a glare, but Ronnie just laughed and reminded Cisco of Iris suggesting they watch the Friday the 13th series next, and who, really, should they be more worried about? 

Barry chuckled to himself as he remembered, but he was glad Len’s suggestion of Romancing the Stone had led to the plan for tonight. Barry hadn’t seen it since he was a kid, but he remembered loving it. He hadn’t gotten the reference at first when Len said to him, “Hopeful romantics, huh? Guess you have good taste in movies too.” 

_“You are now a WORLD-CLASS hopeless romantic.”_

_“No, hopeful. Hopeful romantic.”_

Barry agreed—that was much better. 

He pushed open the door to Saints and Sinners, which was unlocked, even though it technically didn’t open for the night until 6pm. “Surprise,” he said when he saw Len stocking bottles behind the bar. “I came to pick you up.”

Len whirled around, far more startled than Barry had expected. “Barry. What are you doing here?”

Barry tried not to be deterred by Len’s stiff posture. He looked good casually dressed in jeans and an untucked blue button-down—the sleeves rolled up just as Barry had envisioned. “It seemed silly for you to drive all the way out to the labs when I could come pick you up and zip us there in minutes. Plus I wanted—”

“You have to get out of here.”

Barry frowned. Len stood blocking the opening that led behind the bar, standoffish, like a wall. “Look, I know you have this weird thing about keeping the bar separate from ColdFlash business or date nights, but I don’t get—”

“Barry, I’m serious,” Len insisted, his voice gruff, low and hushed. “I’ll meet you at the labs like we planned.” 

Barry’s fists clenched before he even registered how hot and angry his gut was growing. He stepped forward, purposely forcing Len further behind the bar. “Are you seriously shutting me out right now, because I came to pick you up? Because I dared enter your personal space? It’s not like I’ve never been here before. We don’t have to share every aspect of each other’s lives, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like an asshole—”

“Barry,” Len’s voice turned pleading, his blue eyes drooping from their cold expression, which even on their best days snuck up on them occasionally—habit, Len would say, before smiling more warmly and kissing Barry’s cheek—as he gripped both of Barry’s shoulders with a firm but gentle squeeze. “I’m not shutting you out, I just—” He jerked his head toward the back of the bar at the sound of murmuring voices, “Shit,” and then looked back at Barry with thinly controlled panic before recognizing that no, Barry wasn't going to just leave. 

Barry had never met any of the bar employees, other than Mick and Lisa, of course, but he knew Len had hired others to take on various shifts. “Who—?” he started to ask, but didn’t get another word out before Len shoved Barry under the bar. 

“It’s basic science, Mardon. You’ll never master creating hail without the appropriate lift.” 

“Come on, Piper, you gonna write a book report for me too. I don’t need a lecture.”

“How about a high school education?”

“Smart-ass. Even our fearless leader doesn’t have one of those, and look how well he’s doing.”

Barry’s heart sunk to his toes, which wasn’t far considering he had to gather his knees to his chest to properly hide beneath the bar counter, shoved between a bag of empty beer bottles for recycling and a box of brand new liquor Len had been restocking. 

He knew those voices, those names. Weather Wizard and Pied Piper had just come in through the back door! Into Len’s bar. Like they were right at home…

Barry glared up at his boyfriend with equal parts shock and blind fury. The bastard didn’t even look at him, but plastered on a smirk and relaxed stance, shifting to stand directly in front of Barry, practically on top of him, legs pushing against Barry’s squished knees. Barry had half a mind to yank his legs out from under him. 

“School’s overrated,” Len said by way of joining the conversation. “Education, on the other hand, is a matter of pride. The basic ingredients for any thunderstorm, Mardon, are moisture, unstable air, and lift. Now we all know you have the unstable part down; figure out how to better control the rest, only if and when you want to, and we won’t have any more flash floods come Saturday night.”

“Hey, Rory made me pay for that,” Mardon said, voice closer now, likely leaning against the counter. “Literally. My last job paid to replace the carpet.”

“About time too,” Piper huffed. “This place was a dive, Cold. You class it up nicely though.”

“Tiles instead of carpet were an obvious improvement,” Len said, and Barry almost kicked him, because he saw the way Len did that little eye glance he always melted under when it was directed at him. That look was not allowed for Hartley Rathaway! 

“Mmm, I didn’t mean the tile, boss, but that’s nice too,” Piper said in that teasing, lilting voice, like he’d sounded when commenting on Barry’s leather—not leather!—suit. 

“Behave, kid. We’ve been over this,” Len said, though he looked far too amused for Barry’s liking.

“Right, right…you’re spoken for. So when are we going to meet this boy toy, because I am growing increasingly more jealous…and skeptical he exists.”

“You know the rules. No innocents harmed. No killing. And—”

“And home life stays separate unless it walks in through the door,” Mardon broke in, causing the hair on the back of Barry’s neck to prickle, because shit, did he know Barry was under the bar?

Piper laughed. “Shawna enjoys the ‘walks in through the door’ addition a little too much, considering it was added catching you two on one of the pool tables.” 

“Hey…that one I made her pay for,” Mardon said, and the three of them shared a laugh—shared a laugh. Len and the other—obviously now to Barry—Rogues. 

“Mick will be in momentarily to man the door tonight,” Len told them. “Mardon, you got the bar. Hart, you’re on tables.”

Hart?!

Len pressed one of his legs more firmly against Barry to hold him still. “Now why don’t you two drop off your coats in the back?”

“What about shop talk, Cold,” Mardon said, his voice slowly fading as he walked away. “Rory still leading us through the plan for that jewelry store on Marshall after closing?”

Barry slid his hand up Len’s jeans and dug his fingernails into his calf. 

Len barely twitched. “As planned. Baez is coming in at 10pm to help pick up the slack. She’s bringing the blueprints.”

“That’s my girl,” Mardon called. 

“Back in a flash, oh captain, my captain,” Piper added, sounding way too pleased with himself. Then Barry knew they were both out of sight.

He flashed up, grabbed Len by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him down beneath the bar with him. “What the fuck is going on?!” 

“Barry, it’s not what it sounds like.” Len’s expression was drawn, pleading. He changed masks on a dime, barely the same man as the one who had just been talking to known criminals he supposedly had no connection to. 

Barry tightened his grip on Len’s shirt, searching his boyfriend’s—his boyfriend’s—caring face. “You really think I wouldn’t trust you after everything? Just…tell me what you’re doing?” 

“Exactly what I said I’d do,” Len said, slowly lifting his hands and placing them gently over Barry’s. “Helping you clean up this city. If The Rogues think I’m playing both sides—”

“The Rogues are only supposed to be you, Mick, and Lisa.” 

“Not anymore,” Len said calmly. “Barry, just listen. This way I can control what they hit, who, how, and keep them off your back. Maybe even get a few to change sides over time. They’re not all as bad as you think. Some just had bad happen to them and went along for the ride.” He grinned coyly, but a little sadly too, regret and entreaty warring in his gaze. 

Finally, Barry loosened his grip, just letting Len’s hands rest atop his. “This is dangerous. These people have powers, Len, and they aren’t any more afraid to kill someone than…you are.” He hated to say that, hated the way it clouded Len’s eyes over a little more, hated the way Len sighed as he lifted one hand toward Barry’s face and touched his cheek.

“Cold?” 

The smirking mask returned, and Len swooped in to claim a brief, fiercely stolen kiss before grabbing one of the bottles out of the box beside him and standing as if he’d merely bent down to retrieve it. “Let me finish restocking and the place is all yours once Mick gets here. Take the chairs down off the tables, huh? Hart, you too.” 

“Aw, come on, Cold," Piper complained. "Mark doesn’t need my help for that.” 

Barry saw Len glance down after setting the bottle in place behind him, making a swift, barely noticeable zag with his finger in the direction of the door. 

Mardon and Piper must both be facing away. Now was Barry’s chance to flash out of there without them seeing his lightning trail. He lifted himself onto the balls of his feet and—

“Hart—” Len growled just as Piper appeared above Barry, having hopped up onto the counter. He gripped the edge and leaned back, grinning at Len with an appraising once over. 

“Stop sitting on the bar, Hartley,” he mocked in a terrible lower register to approximate Len. “Lighten up, Cold, nobody’s even here ye—”

But before Barry could think of a way to better hide with Piper in full view of him from his perch…he glanced down and saw him. 

“Why, hello there,” Piper grinned far too devious and wide. “Did we interrupt something, because blowjobs beneath the bar are so trashy. Seriously, well done,” he tipped himself back on the bar closer to Len, “is that an allowable practice now?”

Len successively pushed Piper down from the counter then reached for Barry and hoisted him to his feet. “No. Unfortunately for me, my pants are still on. And yours better stay that way too when you’re on the clock.”

Barry passed Len an apologetic look for not being, well, faster, and slowly turned to face the room. Mardon approached at a clipped pace after having taken down all of the chairs except those on one table in the back, brows furrowed as he sized Barry up, while Piper eyed Barry like a pleased wolf, holding his hands up in placation. 

Then his smirk dropped, followed by his hands, as he eyed Barry more closely. “Wait…”

“You’re West’s kid,” Mardon ground out, rushing toward the bar the last few steps, as a sudden breeze blew through the bar. “You’re CSI.”

“Cool it, Mardon,” Len tried.

“He works with S.T.A.R. Labs. He’s…” Piper trailed, eyes darting from Barry to Len to Mardon and back to Len, who Barry could tell was staring him down with silent, brutal warning. If anyone knew Barry’s identity other than the original Rogue trio, it was Piper. 

Damn it. Barry was so fucked. 

But Piper glanced once more to Mardon...and shrugged. “Trouble. He’s real trouble, Cold, and not what I’d call our kind of trouble, either. Were you really sucking cock down there, Barry,” he licked his lips as he said it, “because that would be just too good.”

“No!” Barry sputtered, then glanced to Len and realized they needed some sort of explanation for his presence, and damn it, if Piper was playing along, Barry sort of had to go with a half-truth here. “Not…at the moment, anyway.” He scratched the back of his neck and feigned embarrassment, which wasn’t entirely difficult given the situation. “Len was hiding me because, like Mardon said, I’m CSI, and he figured our relationship wouldn’t look any better to his people than it would to mine.” 

“Relationship…?” Mardon said in a low, challenging voice. The lights flickered, sparks of lightning building in Mardon’s hands. Barry tried to look scared at this development—also not hard to feign.

Piper rubbed his ear. “Back off, Sparky, or you’ll short me out again, and then I’ll be really angry,” which at least got the lightning to die down. Piper crossed his arms and eyed Len and Barry with a calculating stare. “You two are what…dating? Fucking?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Len said, body stiff, alert, ready to go for some unseen weapon that Barry was now certain had to be within reaching distance, “but all of the above.”

“You bastard.” Mardon might have let his powers dwindle, but he charged the bar, slamming his hands against it and leaning menacingly in Len’s face. “You didn’t talk me down from pursuing West because it’s the rules you play by, or because killing a detective and his family would bring too much heat down on us, you did it for the kid.” 

Barry shifted in place, ready to run, fight back, zip Len out of there if the situation turned too much against them, but Len didn’t so much as flinch. He kept his eyes on Mardon and squared his stance, leaning forward to meet him until their faces were inches apart even with the bar top between them. 

“I did it for all of those reasons, Mardon, because they are all very valid points, and yes, it did dawn on me that allowing one of my associates to kill my boyfriend’s father might put a damper on our relationship. Chill out.” At this, Piper snorted, but Len didn’t pause. “Haven’t you enjoyed working with me so far? Hasn’t it been more lucrative, allowed you more freedoms, allowed you to spend more time with Miss Baez?”

At the mention of Shawna, Mardon shifted away from the bar. He kept his hands clenching the curve of the countertop, and Barry felt a gust of wind blow through the room again, a prickle of electricity. “You freeing us from The Flash’s prison bus only buys you so much, Cold. This has to go both ways.”

“Well,” Piper stepped in, sauntering over to stand parallel with Mardon, “clearly our frosty leader’s got a better deal going with The Flash than we realized.” 

Shit, shit, he was going to reveal Barry’s identity to Mardon. 

Piper glanced at Len with a head tilt, then looked Barry up and down. “Like I said, Barry works with S.T.A.R. Labs. You could even say you’re…quite friendly with The Flash, wouldn’t you agree? Seems to me Captain Cold is playing both sides even more cleverly than we could have guessed."

Barry opened his mouth to say…something, but left it there, hanging. 

“We already knew Cold was showing up on the news as part of the hero team to keep Flash unaware of our activities. Stands to reason he’d have an…in.” He bit his lip this time and raised an eyebrow at Barry, and seriously, if Barry wasn’t on edge and bewildered right now, trying to figure out Piper’s angle here, he would have groaned at the amount of punning and double entendres going on inside this bar. “Cold just hid Barry to avoid your usual temper tantrums, Mark. Don’t be such a sour puss. You didn’t even like your brother,” he finished with a dramatic head tilt.

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Mardon glared at Barry.

“Tell that to Peek-A-Boo after you screw over the good thing we got going,” Piper said, and was Barry crazy, or was he arguing for their side? “You know how she feels about her own near-miss with the good Dr. Snow. She just doesn’t have that killer instinct when she has a good head on her shoulders. And she doesn’t like the thought of you having one either. She’s a bit of a wet blanket sometimes, sure,” he shrugged as if there was nothing at all to be tense about, debating whether or not Mardon was allowed to murder Barry right there in the bar, “but you are much more agreeable when you’re getting laid.” 

The static in the air intensified for one brief moment…then dissipated. Mardon rolled his eyes at Piper, his posture relaxing as he sagged further away from the bar and his hands finally fell to his sides. “Fine. You were just looking out for you, Cold, keeping a pretty face happy and a secret from the rest of us. Who among us wouldn’t do the same?” he grinned, albeit not exactly friendly. “But if we’re playing by Rogue rules,” he shifted his gaze to Barry, “you better play by them too…Allen. No spilling our secrets to The Flash.” 

Barry righted himself to stand up straighter. “Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing to play the game, Mardon,” he said, trying not to look at Piper and give the game away by mouthing an obvious ‘what the hell, man’ at the evil genius. “Just stay away from my dad. And my sister.”

Mardon nodded stiffly, seemingly appeased, but glancing quickly between all three Rogues, at Len especially and the way he relaxed, Barry realized how tense his boyfriend had actually been. At least Mardon seemed like he meant what he had said. 

“The fuck I miss?” Mick’s voice roared from the back exit. 

Barry turned to see the pyro looking all too ready to join the fight that might be brewing, and it was a strange comfort that Barry knew without a doubt which side Mick would be on. Mick looked nicely put together in a form-fitting grey Henley like he usually wore beneath his Heat Wave gear, but without the smudges of soot, and a clean pair of jeans. 

“I’ll explain later, Mick,” Len said then gestured to the others. “Finish getting things setup for the night. There are a few more boxes for restocking in the back.” 

Mardon headed toward Mick without complaint, and Barry shrugged helplessly when Mick raised an eyebrow his direction, but he soon led Mardon into the back to organize and gather up the remaining boxes to bring behind the bar. Piper, however, lingered. 

“I don’t know what’s really going on with the power play between you two, but it is hot as hell, and I want in.” 

“What?” Barry stammered. “In?”

“Details,” Piper stressed. He hopped up on the counter again, turning just slightly on his hip so he could face Barry and Len behind the bar. “How often do you fuck with the costumes on? Have all your foiled heists had a happy ending, Captain Cold? Any conjugal visits—”

“Oh my god, stop,” Barry held up his hands, tempted to physically push Piper off the bar as Len had earlier. “We get it. Yes, Captain Cold and The Flash are a thing," he hissed, voice low in case Mardon overheard. "And we’ve only ever had sex with Len in some variation of his Cold gear, never me in the Flash suit. Cisco would kill me.” 

Piper snorted. “So what’s the deal? If you just wanted to throw us in that Pipeline again, you could. And if Cold just wanted an in with you, he’s done that much and easily could have sprung any number of traps by now. Neither of you is really working for or against each other. So what is this?”

Barry didn't know how to answer that. He doubted 'it's love' would satisfy Piper.

"A symbiotic relationship, Hart," Len answered for them, arms crossed and a disapproving eye on Piper for defying him again by being on the bar. "I keep the city’s crime scene in check, and civilians out of harm’s way by making sure you follow the rules. And Flash lets me. We run the big fish out of Central, basically keeping it safer than it would be if everything was in chaos, and no one gets sent to jail because…how would they keep us in anyway?”

“You don’t have powers,” Piper said pointedly.

“Never stopped me before.”

He bit his lip again, impressed apparently, but Barry so did not approve of the looks he kept giving Len. Sure his boyfriend was hot, but he was his, damn it. “Does Cisco know about this?” Piper caught Barry off guard by turning to him.

Right, the ruse was that both sides were for and against each other without most team members knowing, which didn't appear to be much of a ruse, it turned out. "I can definitely tell you that he knows nothing about how Len is actually using Saints and Sinners.”

Piper nodded, satisfied. “Okay. I’ll play. This is certainly more fun than anything I did before now. Good company too. Even the crazy ones. Especially the crazy ones.” He looked a little faraway as he said that, as if thinking of someone in particular. Then he snapped his attention back to Len, leaning back and silently prompting Len to move closer. “But just so we’re clear…I totally would have been your type if you weren’t boning your hero, right?”

Len’s cold façade cracked with a chuckle. “No denying that, kid.”

"Hey!" Barry nearly flashed around the bar to throttle Piper when he closed the space between him and Len to kiss his cheek, hopping down from the bar a moment later and smirking at Barry in mock innocence.

Mick and Mardon returned with boxes they set on the bar top then hauled Piper along with them for the rest. Barry didn't miss the warning glare Mick tossed Len and, picking up on the threat, added his own smack to Len's chest once the others were gone.

“What? That’s a very important ‘if’, Barry," Len said, ushering Barry out from behind the bar. "The only ‘if’ that’s ever meant a damn in my life. Now are we going to head off for date night or not?” His expression turned sweet, and maybe just the tiniest bit worried that Barry would leave his ass there and flash off in a huff.

Barry considered it, but in the end, led them toward the door and out onto the street. "Who all have you recruited into The Rogues anyway?” 

“Everyone accounted for here," Len said, "Miss Baez clearly, Bivolo…”

“Raider, really? He’s—”

“Useful. And I’m going to keep recruiting, especially when it’s metas, and do exactly what I told Hart." Len stopped them once they were in the alley around back, before Barry could whisk them away. His expression seemed fractured now, restless and uneasy. "It’s the smart play, Barry. If they knew I was against them, they’d all come after you. This whole thing would fall apart, and I wouldn’t be able to keep them from...” His voice caught, and he averted his eyes as he finished, "I won’t let them hurt you. Metas are dangerous, so dangerous, and you face them every day. But if they work for me..."

“You’re doing this for me?”

Len’s eyes flicked up, and Barry's anger must have faded to nothing but a glimmer because he smiled in anxious relief. "For the city. I do love my city, remember? And its Scarlet Speedster.” He leaned forward, crowding Barry against the wall of the building, and all the reasons Barry had worked himself up over to be angry about seemed suddenly less important than returning the press of Len’s lips. "So...movie night?" he spoke hotly between them.

"Mmm...okay. But I'm going to get back at you for keeping me in the dark about this evil plan for so long."

"Prudent, Scarlet. Not evil," Len said, but his grin was definitely borderline. 

XXXXX 

The main lounge at S.T.A.R. Labs had a rather large flat screen TV that was almost never used. It also had the one overlarge L-shaped sofa, and had slowly started to inherit additional furniture to accommodate movie nights that would otherwise be too crowded at any one place of residence. 

It had started with the Star Trek marathons, which only included Barry, Len, Cisco, and Lisa. Caitlin and Ronnie joined when they moved onto The Next Generation films. Iris and Eddie joined when Lisa mentioned going through classic horror films next. Iris had always been a sucker for horror, and insisted on starting with Hellraiser, which made Barry laugh but everyone else—Eddie included—eye her warily. Friday the 13th was indeed up next. But tonight was silly, sweet, romantic comedy. 

Len didn’t mind at all, since it had been his idea. He grinned to himself as Barry chucked a handful of popcorn at Cisco’s head. 

“You knew?!”

“Lisa told me! We figured you’d think it was too dangerous to con The Rogues,” Cisco said from his ducked position behind his hands for protection, then peered over them when he believed Barry to have ceased. “It’s actually a pretty slick plan if you think about it. Though I still hate Hartley,” he pointed accusingly at Len, “and nothing you ever say about him will change my mind.”

“He’s really not so bad,” Len said, stealing the popcorn bowl from Barry before he could waste any more ammunition on Cisco. “Bratty, too smart of his own good, completely without tact or restraint…but largely misunderstood. He actually envies you a great deal, Cisco. But don’t ever tell him I told you that, or I will ice your Battlestar Galactica boxset.”

Cisco looked appropriately scandalized by the threat, then seemed to contemplate what Len had revealed about Pied Piper. He really had told Len that once, before sneering about how much Cisco wasted his potential, but it was a start. 

“When we talk about things I know would cause Joe an aneurism,” Eddie said as he entered with a few extra beers he set out on the new non-glass coffee table, handing one to Len, “it’s a lose-lose situation for me. So if he ever finds out—when he finds out—I claim amnesty. I knew nothing.”

“You know, blondie, that would work much better if you were any good at lying,” Lisa winked at him. 

The others laughed. 

“Can we all please just promise that no one is going to keep any more huge secrets,” Barry said. “No more ‘for someone’s own good’, no ‘I’m working my way up to telling whoever’, just total honesty from here on out. Deal?”

Even Iris looked skeptical, however hopeful at the suggestion, before Cisco finally snickered. 

“Good luck with that, man.”

Barry groaned, so Len leaned back to kiss him. “For my part, Scarlet, it’s a deal.”

“Really?”

“Rogue’s honor,” he smirked. 

“And how much is that worth?” Barry laughed. 

Len answered with another kiss—longer, lingering. 

“All right, you two.” Iris finished setting up the DVD in the player before returning to the chaise end of the L-shaped sofa to join Eddie. 

Barry had claimed the main end, where Len had once upon a time slept for several days, and Len lay back against his chest, nestled snugly between his legs. Cisco and Lisa had the new loveseat, while Caitlin and Ronnie curled up on the over-large foof off the side of the sofa that when unzipped from its already large state became a king-sized bed. 

Whenever they did these movie dates, they always crashed for the night. It made Len feel young again, though his younger days had never seen nights as comfortable and companionable as this. He had to make sure Mick made it to the next one. He never cared about being a third, fifth, or any other odd-numbered wheel, but they really needed to find him someone with an…open mind. 

“Who hasn’t seen this before?” Caitlin asked as the film began, looking unsurprised as Eddie raised his hand, but then shocked when her husband did as well. “Really? Who did I marry?” 

“We don’t all have Michael Douglas obsessions,” Ronnie teased her, and she shoved at him playfully. 

“I think everyone should have a Kathleen Turner obsession,” Cisco nodded toward the screen. 

Barry and Eddie both hummed in agreement. Iris pinched Eddie’s side, but Lisa and Len just laughed. He settled more comfortably with his head on Barry’s chest. 

Several beers later, more snacks, and with the second movie in, they all opted to grab blankets as they snuggled even more comfortably with their significant others. Lisa had her arms wrapped around Cisco, who looked only too at home being nuzzled. Caitlin and Ronnie had their hands clasped atop the foof as they lay side by side. Iris and Eddie were squished so closely together into the corner of the chaise, Iris had to rest her head on Eddie’s shoulder. 

And Barry…had apparently decided that he one, no longer minded the blanket he had initially protested when Len threw it over them, and two, was ready to get back at Len for keeping his Rogue activities secret. 

The hand snaking down Len’s chest beneath the blanket definitely had sinister intentions. It teased at the band of the sweats Len had slipped on for the movie marathon. The lights were off, and the blanket hid any telling signs of what Barry was doing, but Iris and Eddie were literally just down the sofa from them. 

Len snuck a peek at Barry over his shoulder. 

“I thought you said the sequel didn’t require my full attention,” Barry whispered. 

The little brat. Len tried to relax, just lay there against Barry, but he couldn’t ignore the fingers at his waistband that then slowly slid down over the front of his sweats, teasingly light, then a little more firmly, tracing the outline of his cock beneath the fabric. 

The dark, their proximity, the taboo of the others in the room, all made it only too easy to grow hard amidst Barry’s attentions. 

Len wished he had the bowl of popcorn or another beer to hold onto, but they were twenty minutes into the movie and already low on everything again, seeing as how Barry ate more than his fair share and Len was a fast drinker. Two beers over the span of two hours didn’t have him feeling even faintly buzzed though. His nerves intensified the quiver in his gut when Barry’s finger curled around him over the sweats and squeezed. 

Len bit back a moan he managed to turn into a mild cough, low enough not to draw any attention, but still causing Barry to chuckle quietly against his ear. 

“Barry…” Len warned.

“You know what I keep thinking about?” Barry spoke softly. His hand snaked back up then down beneath the waist of Len’s sweats and gripped him skin to skin. “Blowing you beneath the bar while you’re at work.”

Shit. Barry was in full-on dirty talk mode to get back at Len for earlier, even in a room full of their friends. Len had no self-control when Barry said things like that. He was trapped, wedged between Barry’s legs, one of Barry’s hands holding him across the chest while the other started to stroke him. He really had only two options—call attention to them to disentangle, or give in. The latter sounded better. 

“You just name the day and time, kid.” He shifted his legs apart just slightly, granting Barry more access, an easier grip. Their stretched out feet toward the chaise end were only one cushion away from Iris and Eddie, but the other pair’s eyes were on the screen. 

Len let out a shaky breath as he tipped his head back, succumbing to Barry’s hold and deftly moving fingers. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sweats, not if they were going to fall asleep here a few hours from now, and he was suddenly very grateful for that. The danger of someone noticing what Barry was doing, however unlikely given the dark and the blanket, made him far wetter than seemed fair, leaking from the tip where Barry dragged his thumb and used the moisture to smoothen his strokes. 

Len ground his hips back against Barry, whose own hardness was pressing into his lower back now. If they were alone, Len could have enjoyed this and eventually turned in Barry’s arms, fucked him or been fucked into the sofa. But they weren’t alone. 

A sharp intake of breath after a particularly firm stroke from Barry drew Eddie’s attention since he was the closest. Len felt the other man’s eyes on them, but kept his own eyes on the screen, not really seeing or focused of course, neck arching a little as he pressed his head back. Barry chuckled against his ear again, and before Eddie could say anything, probably to ask if everything was okay, Barry removed his hand from Len’s sweats.

“You want another beer, Len? Anyone else? We should refresh the popcorn.” He nudged Len to stand up. 

Barry was pure evil tonight, but then…Len did deserve it for keeping secrets. Even in the dark though, he didn’t know how he was supposed to get passed the others without someone noticing his hard-on. He opted to angle himself toward the foof when he sat up, not removing the blanket until he stood and walked swiftly toward the foof and around it to the back of the sofa before Caitlin or Ronnie could look up. 

Barry, who was still thinking clearly, it seemed, snatched up the empty popcorn bowl to cover any telling hardness of his own. 

“It’s the least you can do after eating most of it!” Cisco called after them. 

Barry chuckled. “Any more beers for anyone else?”

Len hurried toward the kitchen to still his pulse, hide his erection, and just breathe for a few seconds before Barry caught up to him. He made it into the kitchen and tossed a fresh bag of popcorn in the microwave, just barely pressing START before he felt Barry’s hands on him again. 

He groaned, only having to lower his voice slightly now that they were out of hearing distance, and pressed back against Barry’s body as the speedster gripped his cock through his sweats again. The touch was there, brief, then gone, as Barry whispered, “Over here.”

Len was in a daze, not even thinking about the cameras, until Barry led him over beside the pantry and pressed him to the wall, giving Len a clear view of the whole kitchen, the entrance, but apparently, “This is a camera blind spot. Told you I’d find some.”

Barry dropped to his knees and pulled Len’s sweatpants down his thighs. If anyone walked in, they would see them clearly, the angle just right to make out Barry’s pretty lips as they parted to take Len into his mouth. Len pressed his head back against the wall and moaned again, too loudly, having to bite his lower lip to stifle the sound. 

Barry’s libido continually amazed him whenever the kid’s mind got working. Despite his initial anger over the incident at Saints and Sinners, thinking about Hartley’s comments must have fueled some winning fantasies for Barry, because he wasted no time deep-throating Len and vibrating his throat—which fuck, was so unfair. Len could not keep quiet when Barry did that. 

He felt Barry shift beneath him and glanced down to see the kid’s own sweats pulled down, one hand on his cock, stroking furiously, blurring with speed, while the other helped steady Len’s hips. Even Barry’s tongue vibrated as it coiled along Len’s underside. 

The microwave beeped in the distance. Len didn’t care, eyes closed but still picturing Barry on his knees like that, touching himself while sucking Len’s cock. He’d be done in moments, he knew, Barry shortly thereafter if not before, and they’d be back with snacks and beers before anyone was the wiser. Or so Len assumed. 

He reached a hand forward to card through Barry’s hair, gripping tightly, pulling, and Barry let out a muffled moan around him. When Len opened his eyes to look down at Barry and smirk…he caught sight of Eddie staring open-mouthed at them from the kitchen doorway. 

Len’s initial wave of embarrassment vanished when Eddie’s eyes met his…and he didn’t turn away. Instead, his eyes drifted back down to Barry, hand on his cock, Len in his mouth, several parts vibrating, and he seemed to lose his breath, color rushing to his cheeks, but not sending him rushing from the room. 

Naughty, naughty, Len thought, and grinned as a wicked idea occurred to him. 

Len let out another choked moan, hanging on tight to Barry’s hair, as he rode out the vibrations between them and felt his orgasm building. He winked at Eddie. “Have I mentioned how much I, unnng…appreciate that vibrating trick, Scarlet?” 

Barry chuckled, unable to see Eddie with how he faced Len. He licked around Len’s head, his hand finally slowing as he built toward his own climax. “I think you made that clear when I fucked you into your work table,” he said, and then sucked Len into his mouth again.

Len’s hips stuttered as he finished. He knew Barry wouldn’t disappoint. And hearing his friend say something like that, before finishing off an expert blowjob, finally knocked some sense into Eddie, who closed his gaping mouth, looked at Len with something between apology and horror at himself for watching for so long, and darted back into the lounge. 

Served him right. 

Barry groaned, pressing his head up into Len’s hand, begging for harsher treatment that Len obliged him with, tugging the strands of his hair and raking his nails over Barry’s scalp until the kid came over the floor. 

The microwave gave a reminder beep that the popcorn was done, causing Len and Barry to laugh. In usual Flash time, Barry cleaned up both them and the mess on the floor, had the popcorn in the bowl, and several beers balanced in his hands, with a few more set out for Len to grab, as he backed toward the kitchen. 

“While that mildly counts for getting back at you for The Rogues, you still owe me later.”

Len tried to catch his breath, make it a little less obvious to the others when they reentered that he hadn’t just orgasmed in the S.T.A.R. Labs kitchen. Eventually, he pushed from the wall, grabbed up the other beers, and followed after Barry, who waited just inside the doorway…where Eddie had been standing a few minutes prior. 

Barry had said he wanted full disclosure from now on. 

“By the way,” Len nudged Barry before they entered the lounge, “we might have been safe from the cameras, but Eddie walked in and witnessed the finale.” He smirked in the face of Barry’s look of sheer horror. 

Len sidestepped him to finish the trek into the lounge, handing out beers to the closet people who reached for one, including one to Eddie, who Len was sure was fully flushed and only managing to hide it because the lights were off. 

They had two different kinds of beer to choose from, so after Eddie accepted the bottle, Len couldn’t help asking, “Get what you want, Eddie?”

Barry nearly disrupted the bowl of popcorn all over the floor, but managed to catch it as he set it on the coffee table. 

“Careful, Barry!” Cisco chided.

“I’m good—fine,” Eddie said, sounding only slightly strained. 

No one else seemed to notice. 

As Len and Barry settled back into the sofa in their previous positions, Barry hissed in his ear, “Which one of us is evil again?”

Len smirked, caught Eddie’s eyes from down the sofa to toss the detective another wink, then tilted his head back to capture Barry’s lips. “Eh, we balance each other out.”

TBC...


	29. EPILOGUE: Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call tips Len back into the grip of his panic attacks, calling on nightmares that lead him to push Barry away instead of talking to him, and putting a wedge between them that requires outside help to fix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the angst. The last of any angst for this, I swear. After this I'm going to slowly start working on the sheer insanity that will be the ColdFlarrow Team Up that ends in drunken karaoke night.

Len whirled around a corner of the building, checking his coms again. No good. They’d been destroyed, crushed when he dodged a bullet and face-planted into the concrete. It just figured they’d be given more trouble by an average gun-toting criminal than any of the metas they’d faced recently. The man was good with a gun though, clean aim every time, almost nicked Len more than once, making it impossible to get a clear shot with his cold gun.

Worse, was it was supposed to be a slow night, just him and Barry on this side of town, Mick and Firestorm on the other, no Rogue heists to plan or otherwise foil, no new players—except for this idiot and his gang apparently, most of whom had already been taken care of by Barry by now, leaving Len to dodge bullets alone until Barry caught up to him. And he couldn’t even give the kid a general direction of where to find him over the coms.

Finally, out of the corner of Len’s eye, he saw a flash of red—Barry. He tried to dart that direction, toward the neighboring building, not daring to call out and give his location away to the enemy. He came around the corner, looking left, looking right—shit!

Len ducked back behind the corner at the sight of his opponent, who once again fired off a clean shot that caused a portion of the brick to explode in a spray of dust. And then crackle and spark where the bullet was lodged. That wasn’t normal ammunition.

“Len!” Barry’s voice called from somewhere nearby, but Len couldn't pinpoint the location.

He took a risk, assuming Barry had heard the shot but not seen him, and stretched his arm out into the open, firing a stream of cold at the ground. 

Another crackle and spark as Len's handle was it, nearly taking off a finger. He hissed as he pulled his hand back, cold gun clattering to the ground.

"Len!" Barry called again, zeroing in on him.

But it wasn't Barry that Len saw first. The man with the gun appeared between the two buildings, weapon raised, seeing Len disarmed and helpless in that moment before Barry arrived, exposed against the side of the building.

A blur of red blocked Len's view just as the gun fired, a solid body slamming into him. He clutched at it, but they toppled anyway, crumbling in a weighty heap to the ground. Barry grunted, whined at the sting, then screamed as the shocking current of the bullet he'd caught with his body crackled inside of him.

Len snatched his cold gun from the ground, inches away from him where they had fallen, no thoughts in his mind on anything but vengeance. He fired as the gunman came forward to shoot at them close range, icing the man’s hand first, but not stopping until only his eyes and nose peeked out of the containment, wide with pain. Good.

"Barry," Len said, cold gun dropping back to the concrete. Barry's back was pressed to his chest, trembling and whimpering now that the scream had diminished.

Carefully, Len shifted Barry off of him, laying him on his back on the ground as he looked him over. His red suit was stained with darker crimson so near his heart, his eyes clenched in agony. Len tore open the suit. The bullet was buried too deep to see, but he already knew looking at the sparks emanating from the wound that these bullets were tailored for The Flash, built to disrupt his healing. And it was working.

"I-I'm f-fine...I'll be...fine," Barry stuttered, gasped, opened his eyes to lock gazes with Len...before coughing up a spittle of blood.

Len ripped the left lightning bolt off of Barry's suit, not caring about damaging the cowl. "Caitlin!" he yelled into the coms, terrified suddenly that Barry's might be broken as well and they'd be stranded. "Help! I need help, he's...he's not healing..."

The hand holding the lightning bolt started to shake. 

No. Not now...

"Len?" Caitlin crackled back at him. "Mick and Ronnie are on their way, but Joe and Eddie are closer; they're coming to get you. Five minutes. What happened?"

Len shook his head. Five minutes wasn't fast enough, not when he was used to his life moving at lightning speed beside the miracle boy on the ground. 

Barry's eyes fluttered. 

"A bullet,” Len choked out, “in his chest, it's sparking. He can't heal around it. I have to get it out. But I...I'm shaking, I c-can't...breathe... "

“Len—”

"Lenny," Lisa talked over her. Right, she was at the labs tonight too. "It's fine. You'll be fine. You're always cool under pressure, right?” she said with a smile in her voice, not even a little harried or panicked, just like he’d taught her. “You’re always good in a crisis. This is no different."

Barry reached for him, trying to touch his face, Len thought, until the kid dragged his goggles from his eyes. Len grasped the hand with his free one when it dropped. "Your eyes..." Barry smiled, blinking blearily up at him, "...they're so...pretty..."

"Barry..." Len clung to him tighter, grounding himself in Barry and the lightning bolt in either of his hands, willing himself not to shake.

"Len," Caitlin called again.

"Tell me what to do," he said.

"Okay. You're right, you need to get the bullet out. You can do it. It doesn't matter if you can see it clearly."

"You've removed bullets dozens of times, Lenny," Lisa said.

But not from someone's chest, so close to their heart. Not from Barry. "I don't have anything to..." He looked around. All he had was his cold gun. "Wait..."

"The firing pin!" Cisco chimed in, thinking right in line with Len.

“Got it,” Len said, dropping the coms and squeezing Barry’s hand, hating that he had to let go in order to do this. “Eyes on me, kid,” he said when Barry’s eyes fluttered again. “Just keep looking at these baby blues, they’re all yours, but you gotta stay awake for me, all right?”

“C-Cold…” Barry’s teeth chattered, and Len honestly didn’t know if he meant he felt cold or was saying his name. 

Len took off his gloves. He didn’t need the full two minutes dismantling his cold gun to get at the firing pin. He had it out in thirty seconds. It was thin like a revolver pin but double ended like a pair of tweezers. It was cold to the touch but not unbearable. 

He refused to shake, flat out refused to give in to the tightness in his chest, the shortness of his breath as he dug the pin into Barry’s wound. Barry hissed, back arching, eyes wide and clear in that moment of renewed pain. Len held him down with his full weight, worrying more about speed than caution, knowing he just needed to get the bullet out and Barry’s body would do the rest. 

He felt it, deeper than he’d expected, and pinched it with the ends of the pin, tugging until it pulled free in a slick, bloody, sparking mess. He dropped it down next to the parts of his cold gun, pin and all, and pressed his bare hands to the now freely bleeding wound. 

“It’s out!” he called toward the coms. 

He heard Lisa and Cisco cheer, then Caitlin’s distant voice, “Joe and Eddie are almost there. Two more minutes. Mick and Ronnie will take care of the rest when they get there.”

Two minutes. Two minutes of Barry choking on more blood, eyes unfocused, body trembling harder and then, eventually, starting to still. The kid looked so scared in the final moments he met Len’s eyes…before passing out, limp and oozing blood over Len’s fingers.

“Barry!” Len pressed down harder.

“They’re there, they’re coming!” Caitlin said. 

Len barely heard her, could barely breathe or do anything but apply pressure until two sets of hands were on him, urging him to move away. Len only let up when he was sure the bleeding had slowed, allowing Joe to pick Barry up and lug him toward the car. Len moved in a daze to put his cold gun back together, pocketing the still sparking bullet in his insulated parka. He had to put it back together before they left, he told Eddie, “so they can thaw this bastard when they get here,” even if he wanted nothing more than to see the asshole stay frozen. 

He had the gun reassembled, left there by the wall where Mick and Firestorm could easily find it when they arrived, and followed Eddie to the car before Joe even finished laying Barry in the back and moved into the driver’s seat. Len crawled into the back with Barry, squished onto the floor to give Barry room, telling Eddie he was fine, this was where he wanted to be, as the other man hurried around to the passenger side beside Joe. 

They talked at him, and Len must have answered, thought he heard his own voice but couldn’t have remembered what he said if asked later. He only realized he had Barry’s torn off lightning bolt in his hand when Eddie took it from him. 

Len’s back leaned against the door behind Joe, his legs stretched out over the hump into the space behind Eddie. Barry’s head was by him. He looked at the unconscious hero, legs too long to lie comfortably, so his feet spilled down off the seat beside Len’s own. Fabric tied tight around Barry’s chest colored darkly from the seeping blood—maybe from Joe’s shirt, his tie, Len couldn’t tell. It wasn’t soaked through though. The bleeding had stopped. Barry’s chest rose and fell steadily. He’d wake up. He’d wake up…

Len wanted to touch him, his cheek, hold his hand, but when he reached toward Barry, all he saw was the stain of red on his hands and he started to shake. He pulled his arms back but the shaking didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He breathed haggardly into his knees as he pulled them to his chest, gripping his head with both hands and dragging his nail back through his hair. 

“Snart.”

“Len, it’s okay. Barry’s okay.”

“You saved, him, Snart, he’ll be fine. We’re lucky you were there.”

No, no…it was Len’s fault. Barry jumped in to save him. Len was the one who should have been shot.

“Len…” Eddie’s hand came down firm to grip his wrist. 

Len’s head snapped up, vision blurry with tears as he looked at the blond detective in the passenger seat, whose eyes shimmered with understanding. 

“We’re here.”

In moments they were out of the car, Joe carrying Barry again, heading into S.T.A.R. Labs for Caitlin to look him over. Len took two steps after them before he swayed.

Strong hands at Len’s shoulders kept him steady. "Breathe,” Eddie said. “Barry's okay. You're okay."

"No," Len gasped, most of his weight leaning into Eddie, his vision swimming, "they built those bullets for him."

"Yes, and you have one. Cisco will look at it and figure them out."

"He jumped in front of me."

"Yeah, he does that."

"No, no,” Len shook his head, “he can't die for me, Eddie."

"He won't. He's—"

"Not today," Len said, one large breath, eyes clearing, Eddie's strained face focusing in front of him. "Maybe not today. But when?"

Eddie's brow scrunched, hands loosening and slowly leaving Len only when he was sure Len wouldn't crumble. 

The brunt of the panic receded, an ache and tightness lingering in Len’s limbs and stomach that he knew would last most of the night. He felt a tear slip down his face but didn't wipe it away. "Fuck,” he drew his eyes away from Eddie, “when does someone become so much your whole life...you can’t imagine living without them?"

Eddie surprised Len by laughing, a sad, fractured smile on his face when Len looked up. "The moment we fall in love with them," he said. He reached for Len's shoulder and squeezed, that pitiable smile turning so genuine and sweet until Len had no choice but to crack a smile back, chuckling miserably as he finally scrubbed the back of his hand across his damp eyes.

"It's all his fault, you know," Len said. "He's the one who taught me to be human."

Eddie patted Len's shoulder, solid and grounding. "He does that too. Remind me to thank him on behalf of the rest of us sometime."

It should have felt reassuring, walking into the labs with one of the many new friends in Len’s life, who he didn’t have to question if they cared about him, didn’t have to doubt or mistrust their intentions. A detective of all people, something Len had hated most of his adult life was someone whose kind grip on his shoulder or arm was welcome, that he could relax into and feel safe. But Len didn’t feel reassured. He appreciated Eddie’s kindness, but something gnawed low in his gut now, like a wound torn freshly open. 

Barry was still unconscious when they arrived, but Caitlin and Cisco passed on words of encouragement. Len could always tell if they were lying; none of them were particularly good at it. No, Barry would be fine. Only Lisa and Eddie seemed to realize how bad it had been, how bad it was, for Len. 

Lisa kept her distance. Physical reassurance wasn’t their way, not when everything would clearly turn out all right in the end. Dwelling only made a person weak. Len nodded at her, grateful, assuring her he’d be fine, but she frowned at him, not buying it and not understanding. When she finally made an abortive jerk toward him, he shook his head. 

“Later,” he said, though he didn’t plan on following through. Her deeper scowl proved she knew him only too well, even if she couldn’t understand why he’d panicked, or how deep the trauma went that had once again been triggered. 

“Snart,” Joe’s voice startled Len a minute later, having lost himself inside his head, staring blankly at Barry’s still form, cowl and top half of the suit pulled away. “You should get cleaned up.”

Len nodded, looking down at his hands, still sticky and otherwise covered in drying blood. He left his parka and goggles on the table in front of the case for his Cold gear, and left the room. The world felt numb around him until he reached the bathroom and looked up into the mirror just as he threw on the taps. Blood streaked across his face and hair. He was a mess, marred by Barry, marked by him. 

Len splashed water on his face, over his head, down his neck, more and more, washing his hands vigorously in the process, almost violently to rinse it all away. He came up for air dripping alternate clear and awful pink. Paper towels were less than appealing, so he just dripped, and dripped…

“Hey…” a softer voice called from too close, already beside him somehow though Len hadn’t noticed the figure approaching through the reflection. 

He turned to accept a dark blue towel from Cisco. Maybe the young scientist was more observant than Len had given him credit for. Only a few darker patches stained the towel when Len was dry. “Thanks.”

“It happens, man. You have no idea how many times we thought we’d lose him. It’s just part of the job. Hey,” he said again, shoving Len’s shoulder, forcing Len to focus on his faintly smirking expression, “there was a time we had to save him from you, remember? That ice is no picnic. And look how that turned out.”

Len huffed, a fraction of a real smile breaking through. “Thankfully, I don’t think there are too many other villains out there planning to change Barry’s life by sleeping with him.”

Cisco choked on laughter as he pushed at Len’s shoulder a second time. “I sure hope not.”

Len wasn’t used to this, to so many kind faces there to back him up, lift his spirits, make sure he was okay when he felt low and lost. Lisa always doted, even when they played it tough, but this was different. This was family, deeper and growing. Len would never forgive himself if it broke apart, if someday something actually happened to Barry…because of him. 

He wasn’t worth Barry’s life. He’d known that months ago, when he first risked his own safety to save the sweet idiot from a falling beam. But Barry never seemed to get that. 

“He’s awake!” Caitlin’s voice called loud enough to echo into the bathroom, sending Len and Cisco sprinting out into the lounge, towel forgotten as it dropped to the floor. 

They hurried into the main labs, only stopping when Barry came into view. Then Cisco rushed up to Barry to check him over with Caitlin, and Len hovered back, edging closer by the moment without getting in the way, until finally Barry looked at him. 

“Hey—ow,” he cringed when he tried to sit up too far, smiling despite everything. “Remind me to let you take the bullet next time.”

“Would if I thought you’d listen,” Len said. 

He still stayed back, down by Barry’s feet, letting Cisco and Caitlin do what they needed to, patching Barry up, even though the worst of the bullet wound was already healing and just needed time. 

Len let Joe and Eddie go to Barry first after that, teasing him for being reckless while Joe lightly cuffed his shoulder. Only when the others all walked away and Barry looked better, alert and brightening as he healed, did Len move the rest of the way up the hospital bed. 

“Why do I remember saying something really embarrassing?” Barry grinned at him, teeth showing as his head lolled back on the pillow, upper body still exposed and bandages over his heart. 

“You totally waxed poetic about Cold’s eyes, dude!” Cisco called from across the room, where he was digging in Len’s pockets, pulling the still sparking bullet from the parka with interest. 

“Shut up!” Barry laughed. Then looked a little horrified when no one denied it. “Wait, really?” He looked to Len like that was the worst thing that had happened all night. 

Len couldn’t stop his forward momentum. Didn’t try. Didn’t speak. He fell upon the bed, hands pressing into the thin mattress on either side of Barry as he leaned their foreheads together and took in a shuddery breath. He wanted to pull Barry into his chest and hold him as tight as he could, but he knew that would hurt the kid more than anything just now. 

“Len?” Barry questioned, voice small and worried. 

Len just kissed him, knowing he couldn’t possibly find the words. 

XXXXX

Barry loved clingy Len. It was endearing, flattering, and really kind of sexy sometimes. He didn’t mind that Len didn’t speak much after the Zapper, as Cisco had dubbed the electric bullet. Instead he hovered, constantly touching Barry, and wanted to go home with him for the night, which Joe didn’t even bat an eyelash at. 

Usually if Len stayed over, Joe either wasn’t home, or wasn’t exactly aware until the next morning. Len made breakfast those mornings though, so Joe didn’t complain—much. But this time he didn’t say a word, just drove the two of them home with him once Caitlin and Cisco gave the okay for Barry to leave as long as he went straight to bed and rested. Len just wanted to be with him, he said, and Joe nodded like he knew something Barry didn’t. 

Barry had learned not to push when Len was quiet. Once he was back to normal, smirking and making puns and calling Barry ‘kid’ then he could ask about it, press for Len to talk and tell him what was wrong. Of course Barry knew what was wrong, he had been there for the whole being shot part of the evening, but he knew this was worse than usual worrying. 

Barry fell asleep before Len, wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms, both of them in pairs of Barry’s sweatpants, though Len slept shirtless in contrast to Barry’s T-shirt. Barry had no idea how long they were both out before he woke to the other man thrashing and whimpering in his sleep. It reminded him of their first nights together in the labs, a confused Len having nightmares that pained him, haunted him. Barry hadn’t noticed anything similar since before Len’s memories returned. 

“Len…” he whispered, touching Len’s shoulders gently with both hands. “Wake up, it’s okay.”

Len’s expression twisted, eyes tight, body shaking even as he tried to move as if fighting off some invisible monster. He’d thrown the blankets off of him down to his waist, a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin.

“Len…Len…” Barry tried several more times, growing increasingly more worried, until finally, finally Len’s eyes snapped open with a gasp and he nearly shot up into a sitting position. 

After a moment of tense struggling, he awakened fully and relaxed in Barry’s hold, within the litany of comforting words Barry uttered to soothe him. But his expression still broke, tears pooling and streaming down his face as he reached for Barry like he didn’t believe he was real. He sobbed when he hid his face in Barry’s neck, arms wrapping around him hurriedly, tugging him close, squeezing too tight.

“Len...what is it? What did you dream?” Barry asked, clinging in return, and holding back the grunt of pain any pressure on his still healing bullet wound caused. It was scarred over now, almost gone; it didn’t matter. “You know you can tell me.”

Len just sniffled, his head shaking back and forth, as he shivered in Barry’s arms. Even his worst panic attacks hadn’t been like this. “D-Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. I’m fine…” 

“Okay,” Barry said, pressing his lips to Len’s neck, feeling how overheated the man was, something he knew Len hated, “but you can talk to me if you need to. Maybe in the morning…”

Len shook his head again. Barry tried to pull away but Len clutched him so hard, Barry almost hissed. He squeezed Len back with a fraction of his superior strength, if that’s what Len needed to feel grounded, and finally the tremors started to cease. They stayed like that for several minutes, Barry not loosening his hold once until Len was still, calm, and silent, and lifted his head to pull away first.

He kissed Barry the moment they pulled apart, but he wouldn’t talk, just shook his head, snuggled into Barry’s arms more comfortably, and closed his eyes. Barry noticed the frown that crossed Len’s face when he pressed a hand to his T-shirt clad chest and felt the bandages beneath, so before they fall back to sleep he whispered, “I’m okay, Len. I’m here.” 

Len didn't move his hand away.

In the morning, he acted like it had never happened. He made French toast, coffee. Smirked at Barry and shooed him away from the plate of finished toast until all of them were done, laughing at Barry’s pout. Whatever had bothered him and chased him into dreaming, Barry wouldn’t press if Len felt this strongly about moving on from it, if he was this okay in the light of day.

The problem was...the dreams didn’t go away. 

The next night they ended up at Len’s apartment, too tired to do much more than make out for a few minutes on top of the covers before crawling beneath them. Barry woke as he had the night before to Len tossing and turning, moaning in his sleep. He came out of it just as violently but settled down faster, clinging to Barry again at first but then…he rolled away. 

“Just something I'm…h-having trouble shaking off, kid. I’m fine,” he said when Barry pressed. “You run so hot, I need some space.”

Barry knew that was bullshit. Barry did run hot, and Len did prefer the cold, but he’d never minded tangling together when they slept before. “If you want to talk about—”

“I don’t.”

“But if you do. You know you can, right? Maybe it would help to tell me about it.”

“It won’t. Just leave it alone. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Barry had heard—and he could be honest, also delivered—way too many false ‘I’m fine’s’ in his life. But he couldn’t force Len to tell him what he dreamed about. “Okay. I love you,” he added, grinning when Len looked over his shoulder at him.

“I love you too, Scarlet,” he said, and kissed him.

Which was why Barry didn’t understand when, the next night, Len was reluctant for Barry to go home with him, saying he needed a night to himself. Barry pushed anyway, too worried to leave Len on his own, and the Rogue eventually caved. 

Barry tried to be good to Len that night, tried to relax him, to show him how much he loved him, worshipped him. He climbed into the shower with him before bed, kissing deep, promising, and when Len gasped away, saying he was too tired tonight, practically asleep on his feet, Barry said he’d do all the heavy lifting. And he did. 

He dragged Len from the shower, laid him out on the bed, kissed every inch of him he could reach, and swallowed Len's cock until he whimpered much sweeter noises than his nightmares caused and shuddered as he came. Barry didn’t even bother getting himself off, just kissed Len and murmured how much he loved him until the other man fell asleep.

The nightmares came anyway. But this time, when Barry roused Len, he didn’t sink against him and sob, he turned away right from the start. He shook Barry off when he touched his shoulder, mumbled about having to go to the bathroom, and escaped into it, staying there several minutes. Barry sat on the edge of the bed until Len came out, feigning nonchalance, eyes dried now, acting as if nothing was wrong. But he still faced away from Barry when he lay back down. 

“If it’s nothing, why won’t you talk to me about it?”

“Because it'd be a waste of time, kid, leave it alone.”

“But Len—”

“I said leave it!” Len snapped, actually raised his voice at Barry which he almost never did. He was cool and collected by nature. “Leave it. There’s nothing you can do.”

Barry curled in close to Len’s back, wanting to spoon him at the very least, but worried he’d be shaken off again. “I love you,” he said meekly.

Len hummed in reply but didn’t say the words back to him, forming a weight in Barry’s chest much heavier than the bullet had been.

The next night, Len went home alone before Barry even realized he was gone. 

Barry sat nursing his 3rd large cup of coffee the next morning, chasing caffeine rushes at a table in Jitters. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and went to the coffee shop when it opened, hoping to clear his head before work. Texting Len only got vague responses and assurances that nothing was wrong, but the distance even a few off days had put between them was stifling. 

“Everything okay, Barr?” Iris’ voice broke him from his somber musing. She joined him at the table with her own coffee procured and a sympathetic smile. "I don’t usually catch you here this early."

Barry sighed. He had long since given up avoiding being truthful with Iris. In the end, he always felt better, and frankly things always turned out better, when he was upfront with her. "Len won't talk to me," he said, and explained the events of the past few days.

"Well, at least it's easy to understand what's bothering him," she said.

"It is?"

"Barry," Iris chided, "what do you think it is?"

Barry stared at his empty coffee cup. He'd had so many people leave in his life, or simply not want to be with him, that the barest hint of rejection drudged up all the old fears he thought he'd left behind. Waiting for Len to come to his senses, realize he never wanted Barry to begin with, and walk away.

"Barry Allen, you are not wallowing right now," Iris said, drawing his gaze back to her and reaching across the table to take his hand. "You have nothing to wallow about. The only thing going on here is that Len thinks he loves you too much, and doesn't know how to handle the thought of losing you. All you need to do is get him to admit that."

"But..." 

"No buts. You two just haven't gotten to that place where you realize you have to be honest with each other even when it hurts or you fear the worst. You'll get there. Eddie and I did. It’s hard at first, but when you’re honest, when something’s bothering you and you just explain it right from the beginning, everything is easier. Trust me.”

Barry had thought they were there already, that after discovering the last big secret of Len leading the Rogues, there was nothing more to keep from each other. Now it felt like they were creating new secrets. “How do we even start if I can’t get him to talk to me?”

“You just have to learn his tricks. His idiosyncrasies. I can think of two people right off the bat who know him better than you do.” She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand before releasing it. “But don’t you think for one second that Len is ever going to stop loving you, or suddenly think he never did in the first place. The way that man looks at you, Barry, especially when you’re not watching him back, is like some terrible, wonderful romantic comedy. With superpowers. And costumes. And more puns than I can handle most days,” she chuckled. 

And as Barry chuckled with her, some of the weight dragging down his heart lifted. He smiled at Iris, eyeing the engagement ring on her finger that once upon a time Eddie had shown him before anyone else. He was so happy for her, for how everything had turned out. He just needed to work on believing his own happy ending wasn’t heading for a disaster. 

“Thanks, Iris. I’d say you’re the best, but then…you already know that.” He hopped down from his seat, leaving his cup behind as he kissed her swiftly on the cheek before heading for the door.

“Barr?”

“Gotta get to work,” he said, spinning on his heels and walking backwards a few steps as he grinned, “but tonight…is fire marshal duty.” 

Anything that involved Heat Wave had some sort of fire-related pun involved, thanks to Cisco. And Len. And a few times a combination with the two of them bouncing ideas off of each other, which was as adorable as it was nauseating. Len and Lisa had patrol duties together, so Barry knew he wouldn’t see Len until later in the night, if at all, but Mick was helping Caitlin and Cisco with a new meta deterrent. 

A baseball sized bomb that worked much like the technology Cisco had used inside the van to transport the metas from the pipeline, but with a blast radius instead of containment. The hope was that the blast would last for a certain period of time, a handful of minutes if not longer, to neutralize meta powers before capture, especially if there was a larger group in one area. 

The problem was that the technology was a little unstable used as an incendiary. The first test blackened two walls, and half the floor and ceiling of the room they tried it in before they managed to douse the flames. This time they had Mick. 

While Mick’s gun couldn’t be tweaked like Len and Lisa’s to do less damage, it had been modified as a sort of firefighting gun when the settings were reversed. Instead of spewing flames, it could also suck away oxygen at a rapid level. Mick was a wizard at using both settings to perfectly control his fire in a fight, which was also handy as a precautionary measure in instances like this. 

“It’s also just generally good for him,” Caitlin said aside to Barry, outside the room watching through the window, while Cisco readied to throw one of the bombs in through the doorway, and Mick waited with his gun if it exploded too violently. “Being able to both start and subdue fires on a regular basis in controlled settings like this has really mellowed him.”

“Come on, kid, gimme all ya got!” Mick roared. 

“Arguably,” Caitlin inclined her head with a fond smile. “Plus it allows him more focus on problem-solving, having to carefully switch between gun settings to control the situation, and helps his aggression issues.”

Cisco pressed the timer button on the first bomb and rolled it into the room, ducking back out into the safety of the hallway as it went off. The room flashed blue through the glass as Barry watched and, like the first time, scorched the floor as flames erupted and immediately started spreading. 

Mick laughed as he used his gun to suffocate the fire, keeping the blackened floor to a minimal circle around where the bomb had deployed. At least this time the bomb itself seemed to have stayed intact. 

“Okay, I can totally repurpose this one,” Cisco said as he dashed back inside and reached for the bomb.

“Hey!” Mick rushed him, knocking Cisco’s hand aside before he could grasp it. “You tryin’ to burn yourself, genius? Wouldn’t want any of that pretty skin Lisa likes so much to look like mine. What do ya think I wear the gloves for?” He picked the bomb up with his insulated glove. The bomb appeared to be steaming.

While Cisco looked properly cowed for his over-eagerness, Mick slipped the used bomb into his jacket pocket. 

“Gimme another one,” he said. 

“Right!” Cisco jumped back into trial mode. “Let me try a couple small tweaks. I think I know why the blast is sparking at the end. I should be able to get it down to barely a flicker, maybe even no flames at all.” He raced back outside to where he’d set a box of the bombs, and began tinkering with the next one. 

While waiting, Mick fired his gun into the air, teasing out a foot or two of flames before switching to the reverse mode, molding the fire with concentrated oxygen like a smoke ring. It was entrancing. 

“Oh yeah…he’s totally mellowed,” Barry snickered. 

Caitlin leaned into Barry with her elbow. “Sometimes it isn’t about fixing people, Barry, just about finding ways for them to deal with their demons that doesn’t get them or anyone else hurt. The easier road, as we learned, is locking them up, but the tough road, well…it’s been worth it, don’t you think?” 

Barry turned to his friend with a warm grin. “I think you’re vying for sainthood now, Mrs. Raymond.” 

“It’s Doctor Snow, thank you,” she reminded him, not that he’d forgotten. According to her, all the hullabaloo around name changing was a nightmare if you had a doctorate, especially just for some archaic tradition. “And as for the sainthood part…I’ll get in line right behind you, Mr. Allen.”

Finally, on about bomb number three or four, the floor did not start on fire when it erupted, and while Mick looked mildly disappointed by that, Cisco cheered in victory. 

“Now to test it out on some actual metas,” Cisco announced as they approached Barry and Caitlin on the other side of the glass. Cisco eyed Barry hopefully.

“Maybe another time, Cisco. I actually wanted to talk to Mick.”

“Something up?” Mick asked in his usual gruff, no-nonsense rumble. 

Cisco and Caitlin went off to finish calibrating the remaining bombs to match the successful trial, while Mick hung up his gear in his case. There was one for him, Cold, and Glider next to the Flash suit now. 

“Yeah,” Barry crossed his arms as he leaned against Len’s case. “How do I get Len to talk to me about something he doesn’t want to?”

A scowl darkened Mick’s expression. “What he do now?”

“Nothing! He didn’t…do something. It’s just…” Barry slumped. “Earlier this week, when I got hit with the Zapper? He got really freaked out, worse than he admitted to me, I found out once I talked to everyone else. He had a nightmare that night and was really bothered by it. It was easy the first time, he let me hold him, calm him down, but didn’t want to talk. I figured fine, I can wait, let him work through things on his own first. But he keeps having nightmares, and each night after, he pulls away more instead of letting me help, and he still won’t tell me what the dreams are about.”

“And he just keeps gettin’ quieter, shuttin’ down, when a good straight-up talk about it all would probably ease his mind and yours and solve the whole damn thing,” Mick said rather than asked, like he had been through all this before. 

“Exactly,” Barry said. 

Mick closed the case after removing the now cooled bomb from his jacket pocket. He tossed it up into the air and caught it. “You’re too soft on him, don’t want to get in his face and start a fight. Which is good, coz he’d fall right into that, just end up yelling and angry, and you’d be worse off. Sad thing is, he needs an eruption to move past whatever this is. His cold routine works fine for him most days, but when it’s somethin’ eatin’ at him this bad, he needs to scream a little, feel the heat, ya know, and let it burn through him.”

Barry tried not to smirk at the puns but couldn’t resist. 

Mick passed the bomb to his left hand and reached with his right to ruffle Barry’s hair. “You’re a doll, kid, best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s not you. I’ll knock some sense into him. He can scream at me all he likes, he just needs to know what a mess he’s making.” 

“Really? You’ll talk to him? I mean…don’t knock him around too hard,” Barry chuckled. 

“No worries, Flash. No harder than he can handle.” 

At Mick’s reassurance, a little more of the weight in Barry’s chest ebbed away, feeling less like lead and more manageable. “Thanks, Mick.” 

“Nothing to it. I warned him not to pull this shit with you.”

XXXXX

Len was so exhausted from his patrol with Lisa, which in actuality was a dual-mission pulling a Rogue heist with Piper and Peek-A-Boo while also deterring a group of thugs from continuing a series of break-ins in a neighborhood that had enough troubles as it was, that he went straight home instead of returning his gear to the labs. It also gave him an excuse not to see Barry, or risk the kid wanting to follow him home again. 

He thought the first nightmare would be the end of it, just tailing onto the event itself, but each night after had been the same, more vivid, more detailed, more grueling and painful to relive. Seeing Barry there with him when he woke up only made it worse. He wanted to find comfort in Barry’s arms, let the kid soothe him, hold him, but it just made the dream seem more real. 

He knew he couldn’t go on like this forever, keeping himself at a distance, but just a little longer, he thought, just until the nightmares stopped. He was so tired, so wiped from restless sleep that whole week, that he thought, hoped, he wouldn’t remember dreaming this time. 

He was wrong. 

"Len!" Barry called to him, desperate and pleading. But it wasn't Barry that Len saw first. 

The man with the gun appeared between the two buildings, taking aim. Len tried to move, tried to reach down and recover his own gun, but he was too slow. A blur of red blocked his view just as the other man fired. 

Barry screamed, the shocking current of the bullet crackling inside of him.

"Barry!" Len cried, shifting the speedster onto his back. He tore the suit open, the man who’d fired now forgotten.

Barry sputtered up blood, gasping, opened his eyes to lock gazes with Len in panic and pain, as more and more blood oozed out of the open wound, staining his suit a darker shade of crimson.

Len ripped the lightning bolt off of Barry's suit to call for help, but it crackled with static. Help wasn’t coming. Barry wasn’t healing. He was bleeding out and looking up at Len to save him, pleading with him to do something, anything. 

Len pressed his hands to the wound to try and stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, unable to apply enough pressure. “Just stay with me…s-stay with me…” Len said, but nothing he did stopped the blood, until it soaked his hands and the sleeves of his parka. 

Barry’s face drained of color, his eyes wide and unseeing as the spark in them faded and he started to still. There was so much blood, Len didn’t know which parts of the suit had been left untouched, if any at all. 

He pushed the cowl back from Barry’s face, “Barry…” but his hazel eyes stared straight up, unblinking. His lips were stained with blood, Len’s hands covered in it, so much of him covered. He tried to gather Barry into his arms, holding him close, but he was still shaking, could barely hang on. He always knew this brilliant light of a boy would slip through his fingers someday, but not like this, not because he’d wasted himself trying to save Len. 

“It’s all your fault…” Barry’s voice whispered beside his ear, even though he was already gone, already dead. Then another voice joined it. “It’s all your fault…”

Len pulled away from Barry, and instead of finding a cold, lifeless body, Barry attacked him, knocking him back onto the pavement. He straddled Len’s waist, hands gripping his throat, squeezing, while still looking like a blood-stained corpse atop him. 

Len couldn’t fight him off, didn’t know how. Usually this was when he woke up, but this time, the dream changed, shifted into something worse, as Barry took on the form of Len’s father. 

“It’s always your fault…”

Len sucked in air as he awoke, as if he’d actually been choking. He kicked and fought away the blankets until they tipped off the bed and pooled onto the floor. He gasped, his chest stinging, whole body shivering. At least this time Barry wasn’t there to tell him it would be okay. 

Len waited for the panic to fade, his trembles to cease, as his breathing slowly, so slowly, returned to normal. Only when his vision was clear and focused did he dare get out of bed. He needed water. He’d prefer something harder, but he’d tried that the night before and it hadn’t helped. He padded into his kitchen and poured a glass from the sink, not bothering with the ice cold filter he kept in the fridge. He downed it all. 

A harsh knock at his door made him jump and nearly drop his glass. He managed to set it carefully on the counter before moving to the entrance. He glanced at the clock on the wall in the living room. This was his new apartment, only lived in a few weeks. Only the close-knit members of Team ColdFlash knew its location. He’d wanted something all his own, something new after his last apartment was made less than safe, but more than another safe house. Barry had even helped pick out some of the furniture. 

It was after midnight. 

Len checked the peephole just as another knock shook the doorframe. “Mick, what the hell?” Len hissed as he pulled the door open. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring my gun,” Mick growled, elbowing his way inside. “Had to wait for you to get back from patrol. No way I’d let this go another night with how you’ve got the kid spinning his wheels.”

Len dragged a hand down his face as he closed the door in Mick’s wake. “What are you talking about? I’m tired, Mick. Just trying to get some sleep.”

“And failing miserably at it lately, according to Flash. You actually stirring up trouble just coz you’re having bad dreams?” He crossed his arms like a brick wall blocking Len from moving away from how he was now boxed in against his own front door. 

It took a few blinks of recognition before Len realized what was going on. “Barry told you…” He gritted his teeth. “It’s nothing. And not his business to share with anyone else. I just need to shake this off, Mick, I’m—”

“If you say you’re fine to me, I swear I will bust your nose in,” Mick jerked forward, effectively pinning Len to the door and planting both hands on either side of his head. “Caity said it wasn’t even that touch and go. Said Flash might have pulled through even if you hadn’t gotten that Zapper bullet out of him so quick. But I know this isn’t about how close the kid came to bitin’ it. This is about you thinking everyone would be better off if you died instead, or at least died first. 

“Well ya know what, you probably will, the odds aren’t exactly in your favor. But that doesn’t mean you pull away and act like some dumb shit on the off chance Flash might go first, even if it is from saving your ass in the process. You don’t throw a good thing away coz you’re scared you might lose it, dumbass.”

All Len’s feelings of helplessness and fear surged up in him like dry ice, eroding his calm and self-control— 

“You wanna end things with Flash that badly?”

—and then drained out of him as his stomach bottomed out. “What…? No. Of course not.”

“Then get your head outta your ass, Snart,” Mick said, pushing back from the door finally and letting his hands drop. “Poor kid spends a couple days with you pulling this shit, he thinks his whole world’s ending. You got a problem, tell him. Hurts to be around him waking from some nightmare about losing him or whatever this is, then let it hurt. Let him help. This avoidance crap doesn’t help anybody.”

The anger that had been pushing to the surface as it usually did when Mick challenged him like this dwindled. Len had promised he wouldn’t do this, promised Mick and several others that he wouldn’t push Barry away for the wrong reasons. Of course he knew that avoiding his relationship with Barry wouldn’t help his fear of losing it. But threats were always easier to face head on than heartache. 

“So. You gonna make this up to him, or do I gotta go back to the labs for my gear.” Mick crossed his arms again, all piss and vinegar—for an oversized teddy bear just trying to help a friend. 

Len took in a few deep breaths. Then nodded. “I don’t want to go back to sleep. Had another dream before you came knocking. No matter how much I talk to him about this…it’s never going to make it easier if he dies in my arms someday.”

“Never said it would. For any of us. But playing a hand you ain’t been dealt yet is just bad business.” Mick grinned when Len huffed a laugh. Finally, he let Len move away from the door.

“You want a beer?” Len asked. 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The one reprieve the dreams granted Len was that they never came more than once a night. He still drank a few too many beers with Mick before he fell asleep on the sofa. He had a blanket draped over him when he woke up, no Mick in sight, but there was a note on the coffee table. It didn’t bear words, just an intricate sketch of a flame as if Mick had been doodling before he left, though Len knew it was meant as a warning. Mick did promise to fry him if he ever fucked this relationship up. 

Thankfully, it was Friday. Len didn’t have any shifts at Saints and Sinners, but that night he had patrol with Barry on the west side of town. Things had been quiet over there. 

Len put on his best smirk when he arrived at the labs that evening, meeting Barry after the kid got off from the CCPD. Barry was in the process of downing several containers of Chinese takeout, enough for everyone at the labs to partake in before hitting the streets, though Barry had started in first, when Len walked over to him and kissed his temple. 

“Missed you yesterday, Scarlet. Sorry I’ve been out of sorts. Let me make it up to you. Ready for date night?”

Barry swallowed back a mouthful of lo mein, eyes brightening in pleased surprise before he pouted. “We have patrol.”

“For us I thought that counted as date night,” Len said, keeping his body close to Barry at the kitchen counter as he snatched up a dumpling using Barry’s fork. He winked as he chewed. “Figured we could play a little hooky if nothing too pressing comes up. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

The somber pallor Len had left Barry with most of the week vanished in favor of excitement. “Yeah, I’m up for that. I mean, we still need to do our rounds…”

“We’ll keep our ears to the ground, do an initial pass first. Then I want to take you to the drive-in. Besides,” he leaned in closer to press a more lingering kiss to Barry’s neck, “you know what that suit does to me. About time we had some fun in it.”

Barry shivered. “Cisco—”

“Doesn’t need to know.”

Barry giggled when Len pulled away, sliding over another stool to properly dish up from the Chinese. Most nights they tried to be conscientious about what everyone ate, but it was usually takeout on Fridays. 

Barry grinned the entire time, knocking Len with his elbow or his foot every so often. It wasn’t until they had finished eating and several of the others had come and go, getting their own food, that Barry realized. 

“Central City doesn’t have a drive-in.”

Len refused to explain. Said it was a surprise. Laughed the entire time while they patrolled and Barry kept throwing around ideas of what Len really meant. The real answer was simpler than any of Barry’s guesses. 

Once they’d done a single round of patrol to their satisfaction, Len led the way to an old movie theater on Monroe Street. It was a dollar theater now, only played older films, and was a little run down, but it had five screens, all of which had gone digital recently, which meant that once the projectionist started the films, they didn’t have to worry about changing any reels. 

Len broke in through the back like he’d done a thousand times as a boy. 

“Len,” Barry hissed, clinging to Len’s arm and going along with him into the dark of the building even as he protested. 

“This is the drive-in,” Len explained. “It’s what Lisa and I called it whenever we snuck into movies as kids.”

“This is technically stealing.”

“I’ll leave a couple bucks in the projector room. Come on.”

Clad fully in his Cold gear, goggles down around his neck to better see, with Barry beside him in the Flash suit, Len snuck them through to the narrow stairwell to their left. They could just barely see a few young teens on shift down the hall, hear voices of several more behind the candy counter, but no one noticed them as they slipped upstairs to the projectors. 

“Mmm, the popcorn smells so good…” Barry groaned. 

“You’re welcome to snag us some,” Len said. 

“Len—”

“I’ll leave extra cash. But add butter.”

“Who are you talking to here?” Barry chuckled. He zipped back down the stairs, and was back at Len’s side at the top, already munching on freshly buttered popcorn before Len could get a clear look around. 

Empty, just as he’d planned. He’d kept his eye on the clock all throughout patrol, to make sure they made it here just after the last movie started, so the projectionist would be gone and out of the way until the movies ended. 

“Pick your poison, Barry,” Len gestured around the room. 

It was fairly vast, open, aside from a few boxes of candy for restocking downstairs, and had five windows with projectors pointing out of them into each of the five theaters. It was dark of course, but not so dark that they couldn’t see their way around. 

Barry moved down the row of windows, checking out which films were playing. They hadn’t missed much, just the first couple minutes of each to make sure they’d be up here alone. 

“Sweet, Young Frankenstein!” Barry said as he got to window number three. 

Len knew he loved this kid for a reason. He took that as his cue to pull over the single roller chair and positioned it for the best view of the screen beyond the glass. The theater below didn’t appear to be that full, but something about being upstairs alone had always been more thrilling for Len. And easier on his wallet when he and Lisa were kids and even a dollar was too much to ask. 

“Wait, there’s only one chair?” Barry frowned as he pushed his cowl back and shoved in another mouthful of popcorn. 

Len sat in it, set his cold gun aside, unclipped from his parka, and patted his thighs with a grin. Even in the dark, he saw the way Barry’s cheeks colored. Still, the kid accepted the invitation, giggling a little as he sat himself down, leaning back against Len and humming in approval when Len wrapped his arms around his waist. 

The feel of the kid in his suit was like nothing else, like smooth leather suctioned to every part of him. Len let one hand trail down Barry’s thigh as the other snagged some popcorn. 

“You didn’t think to grab a soda while you were at it?” Len teased him. 

“Greedy,” Barry said, but was gone and back in moments with a large drink. They set it on the floor whenever neither of them was taking a sip, but the popcorn stayed in Barry’s hands. “You’re leaving like a twenty once we leave here.”

Len chuckled. “Deal.”

They made it through half an hour of the movie before the popcorn was gone, which was actually fairly impressive given how much Barry could eat if he gave into his appetite. By the time Madeline Kahn’s character was singing operatic in honor of The Monster’s prowess, Len started to forget the movie in favor of running his hands over Barry’s suit. 

Down his thighs, over his arms, up his chest. Barry’s breath hitched when Len found the zipper and started to bring it down. Barry pulled away, and Len worried he’d overstepped his bounds, but then the kid was standing, turning, and straddling Len in the chair face-forward. 

Oh. 

Len settled his hands on Barry’s waist, squeezing as his fingers trailed down over the speedster’s firm backside. Barry bucked forward and bent down to capture Len’s lips. 

This part of the relationship always made sense to Len. He never had to overthink or second guess his attraction to Barry, and Barry wore his emotions on the sleeves of his Flash suit. Kissing, touching, even rocking together in a less than sturdy roller chair in the projector room of an old movie theater made a perfect kind of sense. It was the emotions that were new and hard for Len to decipher. 

He loved Barry, he never doubted that, but he’d never really known the feeling before now, so powerful and able to hurt so much. He’d experienced more pain loving Barry than he’d ever felt before he met the kid, and yet he still craved it, craved the good feelings that came with the bad like a narcotic. Usually the good lasted longer, pulsed deeper, but when it hurt…it tore at a part of Len he didn’t know could ache. 

Barry pushed the parka from his shoulders, hands sliding up beneath his sweater—warm hands that made Len hiss as they touched his cool skin. They’d both removed their gloves when they started in on the popcorn. In turn, Len drew Barry’s zipper down until he hit the beltline, slipping a hand inside and brushing his thumb over a nipple. 

Barry whined and bucked forward again, rolling the chair a fraction backwards. They kissed, slow and lazy through it all, no rush, the whole rest of the movie playing in the background to keep the time. Len’s thermal pants were nearly as tight as Barry’s suit, and they both strained against the unforgiving fabric as they rocked. They had to go slow, gradual, not too fast or rough, or risk toppling the chair over. 

As Len kissed down Barry’s neck, he slid the suit down off the kid’s shoulders. Barry pressed forward with his hips, neck arching back to give Len access, moaning wantonly as Len kissed further down his chest… 

Right over his heart. Smooth now, healed, but where the bullet had entered, crackling and paining Barry before Len dug it out. 

Len’s hands started to shake. He pulled his lips from Barry and stared, just stared at where he knew the bullet had gone in, imagining the blood again, the way Barry had cringed, and mumbled nonsense, and finally gone so deathly still. 

“Len!” Barry called him back from the nightmare, hands over his own to still his trembles. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Then, after a pause, finally catching Len’s eyes, he said, “I’m okay. See,” and pressed the palm of one of Len’s hands over his heart, letting Len feel the strange, erratic, supersonic beat that he had fallen so in love with. “You saved me,” Barry said, reaching one hand for Len’s face while the other held onto the hand over his heart. “You saved me…”

Len tried to speak, realizing his eyes were wet only when a tear slipped free, but Barry kissed the words right out of him. 

“It’s okay. I understand. But please don’t pull away from me,” Barry whispered against his lips. “You’re scared something will happen because I’ll always jump in front of you, always try to save you. But so will you. You’ll always try to save me, I know you will, just like you did that day when all of this started. And someday, maybe one of us won’t make it, and no matter which of us that is, it’s going to hurt. But if you really swear you’ll never wake up one day and realize you can do so much better than some nerd with a superpower, then please,” he laughed brokenly, “just let me love you for as long as we have.”

The kiss Barry offered then was bruising, carrying all the weight of that bullet, and any future one like it, all the communal pain and fear and worry between them. But it also held all the love and adoration, the feeling of belonging to someone who asked for nothing but the honor of loving you back. 

“I’m sorry,” Len choked when they finally broke apart, pressing his forehead to Barry’s like he had in the hospital bed. “I’m just not…very good at this.”

“You’re good at everything,” Barry said, “you’re allowed to mess up on occasion. Next time just talk to me. Tell me what it is, even if you don’t think I can help. Sometimes I don’t need to help, I just need to listen, and hold you, and I promise that will feel so much better than spending the night alone.”

Len snorted. “Or having you sick Mick on me.”

“Or that,” Barry didn’t even try to deny it. “Look,” he held Len’s face in both hands, “I can’t promise that nothing will ever happen to me. I definitely can’t promise not to jump in front of the next bullet pointed your way. I know you’d never promise me those things either. But I’m here now. We’re here now. And that’s enough. It’s enough…” He kissed Len again, softly, sweet. 

Only spending eternity with Barry would ever really be enough, but until that option presented itself, Len knew the kid was right. He kissed Barry once more, deeper again, trying to rekindle the heat they’d lost, while his hands finally stilled and his breathing stuttered only because this kid drove him crazy in all the best ways. 

“I love you, Barry Allen,” he said.

“I love you too…Captain Cold,” Barry breathed against his ear. 

Len shivered pleasantly. “While I hate to miss the ending to one of the greatest flicks of all time…how about we go somewhere with a sturdier chair?”

“Mmm…we are technically still on patrol.”

“I think the city will survive.”

Barry hummed agreement, climbing out of Len’s lap. Len dropped a twenty dollar bill onto the chair, beside the empty popcorn and soda. They kissed again, standing there shadowed in the projector room with flickering lights from all the screens, and then, with a brief gust of air and shock of lightning, they were soon far away from the theater, seeking out a place to finish their night right. 

Len still had nightmares on occasion, but Barry was always there to hold him when he woke.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I love Mick?


	30. EPILOGUE: ColdFlarrow Team Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team ColdFlash joins Team Arrow in Starling to help with the problem of Damien Darhk and his Ghosts, but the real enemy for Len and Oliver turns out to be each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided on the split, so I could read karaoke night one more time tomorrow before I post it. Enjoy!
> 
> And thank you, lisellevelvet, so much for all the help on this one, and encouragement!

“Look, Felicity said she got in touch with this woman, and that she knows someone who can help us. He’s a freaking sorcerer, Oliver!”

“When I agreed to let your boyfriend’s Rogues help out with Darhk and the Ghosts, that didn’t include inviting even more strangers into the Arrow Cave.”

“You really should call this place The Quiver,” Cisco said absentmindedly from behind Felicity. “Way cooler than ‘Arrow Cave’.”

“Oliver,” Barry tried again, “Hartley said—”

“I don’t care what one of your villains discovered about this Zatanna person,” Oliver cut him off, right in his face with a scowl Barry hadn’t seen since they first met and Oliver nearly choked him to death, “or that Felicity already tracked her down to send some sorcerer to Starling to help. We don’t need more bodies. We need a plan.”

“This is the plan,” Barry insisted, just as defiantly in Oliver’s face, mere inches between them, with a smattering of Team Arrow and Team ColdFlash all around them.

“So what’s his name?” Oliver stepped back, flippant and mocking in the way Barry most hated when Oliver underestimated him. “What’s his ETA? Can we trust him to not be worse than Darhk once it’s all over? You don’t think these things through, Barry. You rush in, head first, which is exactly how people get killed. You don’t get to come in here and pull something like this behind my back—”

“I told him not to tell you,” Len spoke up. And shit, no, that’s what Barry had been trying to avoid.

“Len—”

“What?” Oliver turned to Len with the veins in his neck bulging, stance stiff, fists clenched even tighter than before. 

Len, who had been sitting back through all of this, leaning against Felicity’s desk with his arms crossed, didn’t even change positions. Just shrugged, completely nonchalant. “I knew you wouldn’t trust intel from Hartley if we discussed things first, so I told Barry not to inform you until after contact had been made. Now the real help we need is on its way: John Constantine. ETA 48 hours. And considering that between Hart, Felicity, and Cisco, we now know everything we could ever want to know about Zatanna or Constantine, I can safely tell you that yes, he’ll help, he’ll ask to get paid if we’re willing, and then he’ll leave before the smoke clears. Don’t worry about the funds, Oliver. The Rogues can cover this one if you’re short on cash.”

Damn it, Len, Barry thought, even though he enjoyed the way the vein in Oliver’s forehead made its expected appearance, Oliver’s anger bubbling but the steam blown right out of his sails as he staggered back from Len’s blow. 

They had been getting along so well too.

“Uhh…” Felicity attempted, since she was currently behind her desk, by Len, and could see the way Oliver was glaring at the former (and occasionally current) thief. 

“Maybe I find it difficult to trust your team, Snart, because they’re criminals." Oliver took a step closer to Len, prompting Barry to move with him, ready to intervene, desperately trying to think of how to diffuse the palpable tension brewing. 

“Some of them are working toward rehabilitation,” Len said.

“And some of them are murderers.”

Len pushed from the desk, arms dropping to his sides as he moved to meet Oliver halfway. “Which, once again, puts them right in line with you.” 

Oliver’s fists tightened, and Barry recognized the split second he had to react before someone threw a punch. Luckily, a second was all he needed. “Both of you stop! Just stop!” he called, hands outstretched as he flashed between them.

Barry hated having this large an audience, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that. Lisa and Hartley were listening in remotely from S.T.A.R. Labs with Caitlin, Ronnie, and Stein, but Mick was present and accounted for physically. He’d actually been getting along surprisingly well—or maybe not that surprisingly—with Thea and Laurel, and stood near them, arms crossed more resolutely than Len’s had been, while Diggle stood on the opposite side of the room with Cisco and Felicity. 

“This isn’t helping,” Barry said, looking to Len first, silently begging him to back off, before he focused on Oliver. “What’s done is done. Okay, Oliver? Constantine is on his way. I know it’s not as soon as you’d like to go after Darhk directly, but in the meantime we can still pull the job you were planning for tonight, take on the outpost we discovered where several of the Ghosts are lying low, without any recent sightings of Darhk for us to worry about anything mystical. We’ll take care of that tonight, and then have a night off before Constantine arrives to help us with the rest. In the meantime, maybe Cisco and the others can figure something out on the science side to counteract magic if things go sour.”

Cisco brightened at that, exchanging an excited, contemplative look with Felicity, their genius minds already working. 

“I might have some ideas on that,” Hartley’s voice sounded from the computer. 

Cisco frowned at the machine with clear disdain.

“Pull the job,” Oliver muttered, shaking his head at Barry, though the slump to his posture proved he was backing down, for now. “It’s a mission, Barry, not a job. You even talk like him." The last was bitten out so that only Barry and Len heard, but it was enough that Barry saw Len's fists clench and start to tremble.

"It's fine," Barry said after Oliver walked away, squeezing Len's arm and then drifting his hand down until Len's fingers unclenched and laced with his. "We made the right call. Oliver will come around."

"I don’t like the way he talks to you,” Len hissed beneath his breath. 

“He’s just concerned. He feels responsible for me.”

“I’m responsible for you.”

Barry raised an eyebrow at Len, but humorously, waiting for Len’s words to catch up with him. “Oh really?”

“You know what I mean.” Len relaxed, his shoulders unstiffening, as a small smile tugged at his lips and he squeezed Barry’s hand before letting go.

“So,” Felicity called out, reminding them that they were not alone in the room. “Are we good to plan out tonight’s mission without any more blow-ups? Other than some Ghosts possibly…blowing up.” She waved a hand, spreading her fingers out to mime a small BOOM, then wrinkled her nose at the ensuing quiet.

Oliver hadn’t left the room, just stood over by his sister eyeing Mick with distrust. 

“Okay,” Barry said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Let’s try this again. From the beginning.” 

XXXXX

As tense as everything was at first, talking through how the teams would work together that night, Barry felt confident, sure that once they were in the field, working side by side, Oliver would be able to set aside his concerns, see how well Team ColdFlash operated, even with Hartley recently added to the group, and everything between him and Len would smooth over. 

He was so wrong.

Even from Central City, those at S.T.A.R. Labs still aided their efforts over the coms. With Hartley’s help—since Cisco had to admit that this particular moment of genius did belong to him—they were able to reprogram several sets of extra coms with combined technology from Hartley’s Sonic Gloves and his special hearing aids. Basically, when activated, a frequency would be emitted powerful enough to effect the nervous system of anyone nearby, their team members immune with a counter-frequency emitted through their coms. 

“Can’t cast magic if we cast Silence first,” Barry overheard Hartley say, which actually prompted a snicker from Cisco, and a confused look from Felicity, until Cisco explained that Silence was a spell in a lot of roll playing games to disrupt magic. 

“Oh, like Magic the Gathering.”

“See, she knows.”

“And since this is actually a whole sound frequency thing…” Cisco said, shrugging, though Barry could tell he got a kick out of it.

“They don’t call me Pied Piper for nothing,” Hartley said. 

“Hey, you cheated by naming yourself," Cisco said as his smile dropped, "I do the names around here.”

“You think you could come up with something better? You don’t even have a codename.”

“I…” Cisco sputtered, glaring harder at the computer screen, which projected Hartley’s image now since the three tech geeks had been working together so closely. “Shut up. You’re lucky RPG references buys you a free pass right now, because you have a long way to go to endear yourself to me, man.”

“Clearly, my life-long goal,” Hartley sniped.

“Okay, boys, play nice,” Felicity jumped in. “Besides, Pied Piper is a pretty clever name.” She immediately mouthed ‘sorry’ to Cisco when he looked at her, all betrayed. 

Hartley laughed, and somehow, despite Cisco ranting a bit longer over the issue, the tension seemed to have shifted. There wasn’t the same biting tension Barry remembered from Cisco and Hartley's conversations before today. Felicity definitely played a role in that, as Hartley had taken to her right away, admiring her intelligence, her skills, her classy style, and her accidental knack for sexual innuendo.

“You could learn from Miss Smoak, Cisco.”

“I hate you so much, Hart.”

Hart—Barry smirked to himself. It was a start. 

And then the mission began. 

XXXXX

The edge of the warehouse district—why was it always the warehouse district?—had blipped with Ghost movement after every encounter elsewhere in the city. Finally, after weeks of tracking these guys and foiling their plans whenever they could, Team Arrow knew that a majority of Darhk’s forces holed up there, in three separate, close-knit buildings. 

With Cisco and Felicity running coms at the Arrow Cave, Lisa and Hartley listening in from S.T.A.R. Labs, while Caitlin separately kept tabs on Firestorm doing normal patrols in Central City with Joe and Eddie, the rest of the crew was split between three teams, one for each building. 

Oliver insisted on partnering with Len, not needing to say that his reasoning was to keep an eye on him, that was implied, while Barry was with Mick, since they were better used to working together, and Laurel, Thea, and Diggle were together for the same reason. The plan was to hit the three buildings all at once, hoping to draw equal forces so no single team got overwhelmed. 

Unfortunately, the Ghosts weren’t in on the plan. Their forces were uneven from the start, Barry and Mick’s building proving to house only a handful of occupants that they took down and secured in a matter of minutes. 

“Flash, join our team. Heat Wave, rendezvous with Canary,” Oliver ordered over the coms.

“Scratch that,” Len called, just as Barry and Mick nodded to each other and made to part at the building’s exit. “Other way around. Mick and I can take out more with fire and ice tactics. Box them in.”

Barry hesitated, skidded a little as he halted his run, and looked back at Mick. They shared a shrug and moved to swap directions.

“We’re more outnumbered, Snart,” Oliver shot back, “and Flash can take out numerous enemies more quickly. Stick to my original orders.”

Barry held back a groan as he once again stuttered out of the beginnings of a run.

“But Canary’s group of Ghosts is better armed,” Len argued. “Mick’s less effective against bullets then Barry dodging them and disarming these guys. Queen doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Guys…” Felicity’s voice sounded warningly over the coms. 

Barry gestured to Mick, who looked annoyed, snarl on his lips as he held his gun at the ready. Rather than choose sides verbally, Barry motioned for Mick to head to Canary’s building. Len would be pissed when he saw that Barry had chosen Oliver’s directions, but he wasn’t going after them because he thought Oliver’s plan was sounder. To be honest, both of them made good points, but someone had to get in there and stop these two from distracting each other with senseless arguments, and Mick wasn’t exactly the best at diffusing tension. 

“Where are you two?” Barry called after he'd flashed to the farthest building. There were several floors, including more than one basement level.

“Don’t come to us, Barry!” Len snarled, just as Barry had feared. “You should—”

“I think I’ve been at this a little longer than you, Snart, to know how to best utilize my people.”

“Barry isn’t part of your team, Queen, he’s part of mine. And unless you were shooting arrows while you were in diapers, you have not been at this longer than me.”

“I’m not talking about pulling heists.”

“Because vigilantism is so different? It’s still about careful planning, timing, knowing how to exploit your resources—”

“Oh my god!” Barry cried out, coming to a stop inside the first floor of their building and punching a stray Ghost who dropped immediately unconscious from the slightly more speedy hit than Barry had intended. He dashed up the stairs to the second floor. “Where are you two?!”

“Barry, we’re getting some weird signal from that building,” Cisco informed him. 

“Weird how?” He zipped into every room he came across, but couldn’t see any sign of Len and Oliver, other than a few unconscious or iced bodies. They must have started from the top and worked their way down.

“Thermal signature,” Hartley said.

“As in extra bodies? A hidden compliment of Ghosts in the basement? What?” He no longer heard arguments from Len and Oliver, but he could hear the zip of arrows through the air, the sound of Len’s gun. They must have encountered more enemies. 

“More like…” Felicity started, and then as she trailed, she, Cisco, and Hartley all came to the same conclusion. 

“Bomb!”

"I so did not mean it like this when I mentioned exploding Ghosts earlier!" Felicity lamented.

“Lenny, did you hear that?!” Lisa called out. “It’s a trap!”

“Len, Oliver, where are you?!” Barry tried again, finishing surveying what he'd skipped before of the first floor, and zipping down the stairs to the first level basement. 

Barry heard a grunt—Oliver—then Len’s gun again. They were too engaged to answer, maybe hadn’t heard, maybe had no idea there was a bomb. Shit. 

Then just as the ambient noise cleared and Barry was about to call to them again, finding more and more evidence that they had been where he was checking but weren’t there now, Oliver growled, “Pay attention, Snart! We’re cornered because you were distracted!”

“Me? First you think you can order Barry around, now you want to order me? What makes you think your style is so superior?”

“Evidence. Successes. The men and women I’ve put away.”

“Why don't we add body count? You definitely have me beat there.”

Barry took a breath so he could break in, stop them, and thought he heard a few muffled additional voices over the coms attempting the same, but Len and Oliver barreled ahead. 

“Barry values my advice for a reason, Snart. He had zero combat experience before I—”

“Before your shoddy excuse for training? It doesn't work if it's less than a week’s time with no follow up or routine. I spar with Barry every—”

“Spar,” Oliver scoffed. “You think play time is useful for Barry? Going easy on him? He can’t learn with his head in the bedroom.”

Another blast of Len’s gun, and for a second, Barry feared his boyfriend had actually iced Oliver. He’d cleared the first level basement. They had to be on the next floor. Barry flashed down the stairs where at last he encountered some living, breathing Ghosts again. Damn it.

“You undermine Barry every chance you get,” Len snarled when his voice came back over the coms. “We know how to work together, how to protect each other to get the job done.”

“You mean like you protected him from getting shot a month ago?”

Barry’s stomach flipped as he skidded to a stop—he couldn’t believe Oliver would use that against Len when he had told him about that in confidence—then summoned his reserves to zip around the remaining Ghosts that had to be the ones pinning Len and Oliver in, though Barry still couldn’t see them. 

He pulled out one of Hartley's Silencers and activated it in the middle of the Ghosts. It was a one-time blast but it worked on non-magic users just fine. They all grabbed their heads and convulsed to the floor. The way was clear.

Len’s voice was ice when he spoke again, “So we’re back to square one, Oliver, where I’m not good enough for Barry? No one knows that better than me. But then don’t try to pretend like you’re any better, or that you’re good enough to spend the rest of your life with Felicity.” 

“Oh my god, someone stop them. Stop them now,” Felicity pleaded over the coms.

Len had confessed to him that Hartley had dug a little deeper than allocated into the Arrow Cave, tried to hack into Felicity’s expert job of firewalling their system, and while he hadn’t been completely successful, he had stumbled upon a side bank account that seemed separate, that seemed like something Felicity might not know about. Because it had activity at a jewelry store for resizing an engagement ring.

Oliver was planning on proposing to Felicity soon, and now Hartley, Len, and Barry all knew. Barry had made them promise not to say anything to anyone else, had reprimanded Hartley for going so far—“Her system was so beautiful, I couldn’t resist,” had been his excuse—and they’d left it alone. For Len to bring it up now, however vague, when Felicity could overhear…

Barry was so done with both of them.

"The bomb!" Hartley reminded them.

"Bomb?!" Len and Oliver finally answered.

Barry didn’t know which one was worse. “Oliver, Len, where the hell—?” he finally yelled—outright yelled—ready to fly around what he hoped was the final corner separating him from his companions. 

“Barry!” Cisco called. “The heat signature—!” But whatever he had been about to say was drowned out by the blast. 

Barry flew into the wall from the outward impact, ceiling and wall crumbling around him before he could get a handle on what was happening. The bomb had blown, and Len and Oliver had been too distracted by their pissing contest to pay attention. 

Only the second Barry’s anger flared, fueled by the pain of being assaulted by debris, panic set in as he realized that the explosion had originated from the very hallway he’d been heading toward, the last possible location in the whole damn building Len and Oliver could possibly be.

“No!” Barry cried with dread in his voice now, throwing wreckage off of him as he zipped toward the smoldering flames trying to take the building down around him. “Len! Oliver!” 

A chorus of like cries sounded over the coms. It was too much; Barry had to turn them off. He flashed around the corner he hadn’t made it to in time, seeing only carnage, flames and charred remains. The whole building was starting to come down; he didn’t have enough time. 

He found the blast radius, easy to determine, setup in the wall to take out the support beams, which was the only reason Barry hadn’t been fully engulfed in the blast. But if Len and Oliver had been closer, they had to have been closer, they might have been vaporized. 

No…no…there would be blood, some sort of remains, some sort of sign if that had happened. Barry pushed on, tossing pieces of concrete and plaster out of his path, and finally, finally came upon the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen: a wall of ice.

“Len!” Barry pounded on it. There were additional blast marks on the floor projecting out from the ice wall, toward the real blast behind Barry. Oliver must have used one of his explosive arrows to counter the explosion, while Len iced them in to shield them from the fire. Finally, when their lives had depended on it, they’d managed to work in harmonious tandem. 

Barry pressed his hands to the ice and let them vibrate, shaking at a frequency that rumbled and risked caving in more of the floor above down on their heads, but it eventually cracked...and then shattered out in a spray of cold. 

On the other side, huddled into the corner, was Len and Oliver, singed but conscious, not even appearing like they had any significant bruises let alone any breaks or serious injuries. They blinked at him mutely.

Barry flicked on his coms. “They’re alive. But not for long because I am going to kill them both when we get out of here.” He turned the coms off again before his eardrums could blow out from the chorus of cheers and loudly shouted questions. 

He snatched Len’s gun out of his hands and aimed it straight up, icing the already unsteady and failing ceiling above. He kept it in his grasp as he sped back down the way he had come from for momentum, returning to scoop both men up—Len over his shoulder, Oliver under one arm—while he aimed the cold gun with the other, running right up the wall to crash up through the frozen ceiling, and firing again to do the same with the next obstacle in his way. 

When they got to the main floor, the damage wasn’t as extensive, the bomb likely more of an out for the Ghosts, like their cyanide capsules, rather than an actual trap. Barry threw Len and Oliver away from him, tossed the cold gun into Len’s lap, and turned his coms on again. 

“Everyone, back to the Arrow Cave. Now.” 

Maybe it was his tone, or how he’d cut them all off several times without explanation, but the responding voices were softer, simple grunts and words of acknowledgment. 

“Barry—” Len started, but faltered when Barry looked at him with blind rage.

“I don’t want to hear one word from either of you until we get back,” Barry seethed.

Oliver tried anyway. “But Barry—”

“Not one fucking word!”

Both of them snapped their mouths shut. As soon as Len clipped his cold gun back into his parka, Barry scooped them up again at lightning speed, zipping them out of the building and not stopping until they arrived at the Arrow Cave. 

He smacked Len’s arm where it started to smoke, threatening to start on fire, not as resistant to moving at that speed for that far like the material of Oliver’s suit. He might have hit a little harder than necessary giving the way Len winced. 

“Make sure they’re both okay,” Barry ordered Felicity, who had already dashed to Oliver’s side, and began to check him, while Len removed his parka and hissed as though he was at least a little banged up. Good. That much they both deserved. 

Barry sat back against Felicity's desk with his arms folded, glaring at them, as Felicity inspected them, discovering only a smattering of cuts at most, while Cisco relayed things to the S.T.A.R. Labs team, to which Lisa sounded equally relieved and pissed off. 

Diggle radioed in that he’d cart off a few Ghosts they’d managed to nab, who didn’t succeed in activing their cyanide pills, to the police department, while Mick, Laurel, and Thea headed back to base.

Oliver insisted to Felicity that he was fine, Len doing the same to Lisa over the coms. Barry remained in the same spot, cowl pushed back, arms crossed, while they peeled themselves out of their costumes, until both were down to the basics of just top, pants, and boots. 

The first thing he said to them after things quieted down came out low and more threatening than he thought he could sound. “You know what that explosion reminded me of, when I realized you’d both been caught in it?"

They glanced at each other before turning to him, only the length of the table they were piling their gear onto separating them.

"That day a building came down on your head trying to protect me, Len, and you almost died. How about every time you've tried to face an enemy alone, Oliver, to keep someone you love safe? You wanna know the difference tonight? No one needed you to save them! You were selfish and immature, and nearly got yourselves and me killed because you couldn't take two fucking seconds to pay attention to what was going on!"

"Barry..." 

“I am not finished yet!" Barry flashed up in Oliver’s face, making him flinch, and glared just as readily at Len when he got closer. "I don’t need either of you second guessing everything I do, getting in my way, acting like you’re the only ones who know what’s best for me. I am an adult. Neither of you is my father—thank god, two of those are enough.” 

He looked to Len, “I need a partner,” then to Oliver, “and a friend. Not babysitters. I can take care of myself. Everyone in this room can take care of themselves!” He gestured widely to encompass the room as Mick, Thea, and Laurel arrived and looked on in mute shock at Barry’s yelling.

“And if the both of you could just realize that for two seconds,” Barry rounded on them, snarling in each of their faces, “especially you, Oliver, but lately, Len, you have been just as bad…it would be that much easier for all of us to protect each other. Because we’re a team. This isn’t The Arrow show, or all about Captain Cold.” 

“So ColdFlarrow can be a thing?” Cisco asked tentatively. 

Barry whirled a finger toward him with a streak of lightning following it. “ColdFlarrow is not a thing, Cisco, don’t interrupt me. But ColdFlash and Arrow team ups could be,” he turned back to Len and Oliver as Cisco deflated. “The teams themselves are amazing and like clockwork in how efficient we can be. But only when everyone gets their heads out of their asses, and right now the only ones having that problem are the two of you! So you better figure out how you’re going to grow up and work together like mature adults, because I am done with your shit.” 

Barry stepped back, nearly stumbling as the adrenaline that had been fueling eased away with the release of all that pent up anger. 

A static, stifling silence blanketed the room, the coms all quiet, everyone barely breathing. Len and Oliver both avoided looking at Barry, but the moment they glanced up, whether seeking some assistance from the others or about to offer an apology, the joined teams jumped on the bandwagon. 

“Thank you!”

“About damn time.”

“Oliver is such a hypocrite about these things, I swear.” 

Even a “You tell ‘em, Barry!” from the computer.

And a jumble of other things that Barry could tell made Len and Oliver both feel about as low as dirt. All he could think again was—good. Anything to keep them from throwing themselves into danger like that again, when Barry had enough to worry about when he dealt with each of them alone; together they were a nightmare. 

He shook in his adrenaline crash, fists tight, heart rate thumping, lump in his throat threatening to make him choke, and sniffle, and—nope. Absolutely not. He would not cry right now, even if he was beyond relieved that they were both actually okay when things easily could have turned out differently. 

Len beneath a pile of rubble had been their beginning; it was not allowed to be their end.

Barry wanted to hug them both now that his rage was dwindling, but no, he couldn’t do that either, not yet. They needed to wallow in this for a while before they deserved his forgiveness. They needed to beg for it; he would not offer it lightly, not this time. 

Eventually, when the tension dropped and everyone’s eyes were no longer centered on Len and Oliver, Mick came over, pressed his gun to Oliver’s chest, and said, “You don’t mention the Zapper again, got me?” 

Len stepped in before things could escalate. “And I don’t mention anything about Felicity,” he said, eyeing Oliver in sympathy, finally realizing just what kind of baggage he had waved in Oliver’s face. They shared a tense but companionable exchange and Oliver nodded. Mick walked away without another word. 

It was something, but when they tried to approach Barry, he turned and headed to the other side of the room to change. That night, while the rest of Team ColdFlash currently in Starling stayed there for the evening, Barry flashed home to Central to sleep in his own bed—alone. 

He left early in the morning, not wanting to get noticed or stopped by Joe, and arrived at the Arrow Cave to go over everything they possible could before Constantine arrived the next night. He probably could have stayed in Central, done some work, even though he had secured these days off from the CCPD, but he didn’t feel it was fair to abandon Mick and Cisco just because he was mad at Len. He didn’t want to stay mad at Len anyway, or Oliver, but it was hard to know how to react to them after he had blown up like that. 

Which was why it surprised him to return and discover the group all enjoying bagels and coffee while Len and Oliver were off in the corner together, talking. They each offered an apologetic smile to Barry and a brief nod when he came in before returning to their conversation. 

“How long have they been like that?” Barry asked in a near whisper to the others. 

“I was first in this morning, and they were already here,” Diggle said. “With breakfast and coffee ready.”

“Didn’t they sleep?” Barry looked to Felicity, Cisco, and Mick.

“The kid and I stayed with Smoak,” Mick said, taking a bite of what Barry had seen was his second cinnamon and sugar bagel. “Think they bunked here.”

Barry gaped at the gathered group. “Len and Oliver had a sleepover at the Arrow Cave?”

“There are cots,” Laurel shrugged. 

“We’ve slept here almost more than at our apartment,” Thea added. 

“Yeah, but…” Barry trailed as Len and Oliver moved from their powwow to finally join the rest of them, sporting empty coffee cups of their own. Barry straightened, not wanting to appear too friendly just yet. 

“We’ve been talking,” Oliver said, offering that tight, masked smile Barry was so used to. “Working through some…issues. It’s been productive.”

“Educational,” Len supplied. 

“And we feel it might be in our best interest to relax tonight. As a team. Both teams. Everyone who’s willing to come. We actually put in a call to Central earlier to get some of our missing members on the train this morning.”

“Lisa?” Cisco perked up.

“Everyone,” Len smiled. “Well, Joe and Martin volunteered to make the sacrifice of keeping an eye on the city for the night, but Eddie got the night off. If anything blows up or goes awry, we figure Barry can be on call to whisk Ronnie back to town so The Flash and Firestorm can handle things. We’re hoping that won’t be an issue. Assuming of course you’re willing to spend any time with us at the moment.” 

He caught Barry’s eye more intensely than he had since before the mission yesterday and held it, watery and crystal clear blue. Barry melted under that stare despite his best efforts. 

“We’re truly sorry for how we acted, Barry,” Len said, then nodded to the others, “Everyone. We got caught up in our own hang-ups and made some bad calls. It won’t happen again. Not like that.”

“So if you’re willing to forgive us,” Oliver jumped in, his smile perking up just the slightest bit more genuine, “we have an idea. A terrible…” He glanced at Len.

“Embarrassing,” Len picked up from him with a wider smile of his own. 

“We’ll clearly regret this in the morning…idea,” Oliver finished. 

“Sounds like my kinda party,” Lisa said, bringing all of their attentions to the entrance where she, Caitlin, Ronnie, Iris, Eddie, and Hartley all stood with bags to stay the night—or possibly two. 

Barry stood up straighter and gaped at the sheer mass of them all together. “What kind of idea?”

TBC...


	31. EPILOGUE: Karaoke Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from the previous chapter, Len and Oliver plan a group karaoke night to make up for their spectacular failure to work on team building and begging Barry's forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so many people to thank for the ideas in this one. ReadHead, lisellevelvet again, coldflashtrash...I'm sure others gushed and commented on potential songs and events for this, so I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> I wanted to make a playlist for this, but I don't really get it, don't really own songs these days, lol, so if anyone wants to feel free!

The day was focused on planning for the next night, and going over what hadn't gone right the night before, which Len and Oliver were more than ready to admit had mostly just been them. Barry didn't get much chance to talk with them alone before it was time for their 'team building exercise' as they put it, but every passing look he got from either of them slowly chipped away at his resentment. Especially when they reached their destination. 

Starling City was just as large, maybe larger than Central, so it should come as no surprise that it would have several karaoke bars. How Len and Oliver had found one that was almost—but sadly not completely—deserted for the night for their large group to take over, was still markedly impressive. 

“I can’t believe this was your idea, Oli,” Thea remarked, bucking her brother in the shoulder.

Numbering in over a dozen people for this outing, they arrived early enough to have dinner so that once karaoke started at 8pm, they’d have the monopoly on good seating arrangements. They managed to snag two tables and two booths near the stage.

Barry appreciated that Len and Oliver chose to sit together with him and Felicity, not that he'd completely softened on them yet. There hadn’t been nearly enough groveling. 

The guy who ran karaoke at this place Thursday nights had an app so people could look up songs early and save their spots. Felicity had been thumbing through songs on her phone since before they left. 

“We finally have enough girls for ‘Lady Marmalade’.” Thea leaned over the back of the other booth to watch as Felicity browsed. “You in?”

“Oh, no no no no,” she peeked up at Thea with an absolute ‘nope’ expression. “First, that is way too cliché. And second, are you volunteering to be Christina Aguilera, because I am not.”

“I already grabbed first song,” Thea grinned, “so choose something already, Smoak.”

“For the record, I’m not being Christina either,” Laurel informed them from beside Thea. 

“I know someone who might take on that burden,” Hartley called over from one of the tables, at which Cisco scowled, seeming way too put out that he, Lisa, and Mick were sharing the table with him.

“Please tell me you are not about to belt Lady Marmalade, Rathaway,” Cisco groaned. 

Hartley tisked at him grandly, waving his cell phone in the air. “Nobody minds if we get one extra party crasher, do they? Boss?” He grinned at Len. 

Len looked to Oliver and shrugged. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow, “Meaning…?”

“Ready, Peek-A-Boo?” Hartley said to his phone, angling it so that Barry could now clearly see Shawna Baez on video call, while Hartley surveyed the rest of the bar to make sure no one was watching too closely. “Now.”

Since Shawna had a clear view of their location through the video on her end, it was apparently no effort at all for her to teleport in behind Hartley’s chair in front of Barry’s booth.

“Don’t worry, boss,” she said to Len—and Barry couldn’t explain it, but every time one of the Rogues called Len that, it gave him a little thrill, which he was sure said something weird about him for liking the power play. He often dominated the bedroom even when he bottomed. He really wanted to let Len call the shots one night—like ALL the shots, like safe word needed, hands tied behind his back kind of…

Okay, Barry was still meant to be at least mildly pissed to be entertaining ideas like that this early in the evening. He shifted in his seat.

“Mark and Roy have the bar tonight squared. Mind if a join in?” Shawna asked.

“Not at all, Baez, as long as you play nice,” Len nodded. 

Barry waved at her with a bashful smile, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Her smirk told him that she knew exactly who he was and what was going on. Hartley was such a snitch. 

She turned and sat down in Hartley’s lap without missing a beat, and he accepted the invasion of his personal space only too eagerly. Barry noticed Caitlin eye Shawna with something tight and telling in her expression. He was glad there were so many of them, so it was fairly easy to avoid someone if desired. 

Of course sitting with Len and Oliver didn’t make it any easier for Barry to avoid them. 

"Am I getting the cold shoulder all night?" Len asked from beside him.

Barry kept his eyes on his menu, refusing to smile at the pun. "I'm still waiting for a good enough reason to warm up to you," he snarked back. "Team building and forthcoming embarrassment is only step one.”

"Barry," Len slipped his hand atop Barry's resting on the tabletop. Reluctantly Barry looked at him, and damn those blue eyes… "I know you can take care of yourself. You don’t need a babysitter, and you don't need the burden of being one for someone else. I will always do stupid things to protect you, but last night was uncalled for. You're not something for Oliver and I to fight over. We just both hate seeing the people we love in danger, hate the idea of losing anyone. And we need to find better ways to express that."

"If you'll let us prove we can," Oliver added, reminding Barry that he and Felicity were across from them.

Barry allowed one small moment to enjoy the touch of Len's hand. Then he pulled it away to put both hands on his menu. "Get working on that then."

Felicity snickered. But Len and Oliver looked more resolved than ever.

“I know the idea for this outing was ours, but I am going to have to be significantly drunker to go through with this,” Len said once dinner and small talk dwindled and Thea headed up to the stage.

Mick appeared as if on cue with a tray of shots. He passed them to everyone, including Barry, much as it would only burn for a moment, and immediately picked up the tray again to move on to the next booth. “Easily handled, pal,” Mick said. His sinister grin was almost chilling. 

Barry groaned internally at the thought. 

“Bottoms up,” Felicity said once everyone had their shots. It burned alright, and was a little too bitter, straight up smooth alcohol without any flavor for Barry’s tastes, but it made Felicity give a ‘woo’ when she finished, and Oliver blinked wide. 

Even Thea was delivered a shot to knock back before the first riffs of “Only the Good Die Young” sounded over the speakers. She actually wasn’t that bad of a singer either. Nothing spectacular, but good enough to start the night right, even if Oliver made a face at her song selection. Barry didn’t get the joke. 

“Barry, you so need to do this one,” Iris said, squeezing in beside him on his side of the booth to show him the app. He eyed the selection she had brought up and shook his head. “But you love this song.”

“Iris,” Barry hissed. “That is way too embarrassing.” 

“That’s what karaoke night is for, Barry.”

“She has a point,” Felicity said.

Barry glowered at them, but then considered singing the selection right to Len, hamming it up as much as he could and just embarrassing the hell out of his boyfriend. If he played into his confidence, reminded himself that Caitlin had sure seemed to think his voice wasn’t that bad, he could turn this to his favor. 

“Okay,” he caved, “sign me up, but that better mean you’re getting up there too.”

Iris, ever to Joe’s disappointment, might as well be tone deaf for how well she could carry a tune, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash at Barry’s suggestion. “Already covered,” she said, and slipped right back out of the booth, heading to the stage as soon as Thea finished to a round of cheers and applause. 

Lisa and Shawna joined Iris. He laughed when the opening chords to “Bang Bang” started playing. 

The lady Rogues absolutely killed it as Jessie J and Ariana Grande, Iris not really singing along with the chorus, but when it got to the Nicki Minaj rap verse, she took over and stole the show like a pro. Barry should know better than to ever underestimate his best friend. 

Which meant he was next. Shit. 

“I expect something classic and epic out of both of you,” he said to Len and Oliver before slipping out of the booth. Mick was already coming around with another round of shots. Most of their group seemed to need it to get up the courage to take the stage. Barry had never wished more for alcohol to affect him. 

He plastered on a grin as Iris hooted and hollered up at him, “Go, Barry!” and even though almost all of the others broke into raucous laughter when the opening notes of his song started, he focused his eyes on Len. He summoned every bit of confidence he’d pretended to feel doing Glee club in high school, which was marginal at best, but damn it, he could so slay this song. 

_Well I guess it would be nice_  
_If I could touch your body_  
_I know not everybody_  
_Has got a body like you_

Barry winked and twirled once with the—thankfully—cordless microphone. 

_But I've got to think twice_  
_Before I give my heart away_  
_And I know all the games you play_  
_Because I play them too_

Len’s grin was only too amused, and Barry tried not to stumble over his own feet, playfully dancing on the stage as his boyfriend licked his lips at him and bobbed his head along to the song. So much for embarrassing Len.

_I gotta have faith, faith, faith_

Lisa took over Barry’s spot in the booth beside her brother, holding a phone to go through songs with him, which finally tore his gaze from Barry and replaced his grin with a blank expression that Barry hadn’t seen often on his boyfriend but that he took for honest, abject fear. 

Karma at its best.

Barry received an even bigger round of applause for his performance than the others so far, though maybe the second round of shots helped with that. Meanwhile, Laurel made sure in Mick’s wake that everyone—everyone but her—had a full drink to continue fueling their liquid courage, while Caitlin and Ronnie hit the stage next with a rather lopsided version of “Hot Blooded.” Lopsided if only because Caitlin was in no way better at singing still mostly sober, and Ronnie wasn’t half bad, though every verse had him looking to his wife with the cutest expression of genuine devotion. 

“Didn’t know you were such a George Michael fan,” Len said as Barry squeezed in beside Lisa. 

“Shut up,” Barry grinned, “and pick your song. I expect to be blown away.”

Len actually looked nervous scrolling through the app, but after Lisa insisted he just suck it up and do her first suggestion—whatever that was, since Barry hadn’t heard—Len finally gave in. Barry couldn’t wait to be surprised. 

Diggle declared he would only get on stage once for the evening, and for that, Thea and Laurel chose a song for him. Several of the ladies in attendance seemed to lament that he was a married man after his rendition of “Let’s Get It On.”

“Oli, woo!” Thea clapped and shouted, followed be a round of cheers from the others, as Oliver finally excused himself from the booth for his turn. 

“What are you singing?” Felicity grabbed his arm.

He just smiled and inclined his head at her.

Oliver proved to be the typical mediocre karaoke singer, much like his sister, not star material and not too shabby either, but it was the full heart and energy he put into the song that got everyone on their feet singing along, while Felicity tried to hide her face with how much she was blushing.

_She was a fast machine she kept her motor clean_  
_She was the best damn woman that I ever seen_  
_She had the sightless eyes telling me no lies_  
_Knocking me out with those American thighs_

Barry burst out laughing. This was too perfect. He could not keep scowling at them with a performance like that.

_And you_  
_Shook me all night long_

“If I jump his bones in full view of everyone, you have no one to blame but yourselves,” Felicity said, as she took the straw to her Tequila Sunrise and sucked down half of it before Oliver finished. The foggy, lovesick look in her eyes afterward made Barry wonder if she’d follow through with that threat. And he loved every minute of it, because Oliver never let loose like this, and then…well. 

Then it was Len’s turn. 

Barry melted the second his boyfriend opened his mouth on stage, couldn't fight it. He had demanded classic, and this was one of his favorites—Len knew that of course, Lisa too—but most of the gathered group had never had the pleasure of hearing Captain Cold sing, certainly not in the shower as Barry had on more than one occasion. 

A brief stunned silence blanketed them as he sang through the first verse perfectly, and finally, when his eyes landed on Barry with a flirty, heartfelt stare, everyone got over their shock and cheered him on to the chorus of “Livin’ on a Prayer.” 

_We've got to hold on to what we've got_  
_It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not_  
_We've got each other and that's a lot for love_  
_We'll give it a shot_

_Woah, we're half way there_  
_Woah, livin' on a prayer_  
_Take my hand, we'll make it I swear_  
_Woah, livin' on a prayer_

“Okay, that is the hottest thing I have ever heard,” Felicity spoke around her straw, sucking down the second half of her drink with equal gusto. She grinned cutely at Oliver when he raised an eyebrow at her. “You were sexy too, honey.”

Mick brought another round of shots, and Oliver started to protest. 

“I’m pretty sure we need ‘em, Queen, if I’m gettin’ up there later,” Mick said gruffly. 

Mick was right too—about needing more booze. Finally, after that next round of shots, and everyone onto their second or third main drinks, the fixed tables started to intermingle. A few of the bar patrons who weren’t with their group had their turn at the mic, and Felicity quickly transitioned into Honest Drunk territory, which was insane considering how boldly honest she was usually. 

“And then he told me: He can individually or all at once vibrate every part of his body,” Felicity mimicked Len’s voice effectively enough that Barry turned beat red. Eddie had joined them moments before—also red in the face now—and Hartley at that exact moment breezed by the booth only to instantly stop. 

He slid in beside Felicity with a gleaming grin. “I’m sorry, Barry can do what with his speed?”

Eddie downed most of his drink and quietly excused himself.

Eventually, Barry was saved from Felicity and Hartley getting better acquainted by being pulled over to one of the tables with Iris and Lisa, made to sit with Len while their sisters plotted a song for them to sing together. He groaned at the list they we making so far and glanced aside to notice that Caitlin and Shawna had excused themselves to a slightly farther away table alone. They were both marginally tipsy, and looked to be in heated discussion. 

Just to be safe, Barry rose to check on them, saying, “Yeah, guys, whatever you want, I’m sure Len and I can handle it.”

“Barry…” Len said warningly, because that was just asking for trouble, but the girls giggled, and Barry tried to tell himself he hadn’t just signed his death warrant for the night.

As he snuck closer to eavesdrop, he caught a few words of heartfelt apology from Shawn to Caitlin for attacking her, Caitlin’s own apology for the Pipeline, and listened in a little longer until the conversation turned to Shawna needing an internship as part of her medical schooling. She had decided to pursue it again, which prompted Caitlin to offer, “We can always use extra help at the Labs.” Barry would have to thank Hartley later for letting Shawna crash the party. 

“You really shouldn’t give them free reign so easily, Barry,” Len smiled at him when he returned, Iris and Lisa snickering to themselves over their phones. 

A few songs later Barry learned why when he and Len were called up for “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” It wasn’t nearly close enough to Christmas for this!

Barry took the female part to better play into the lyrics, but he was not expecting for Len to be quite as buzzed as he was—had Barry missed more shots from Mick? Something sure seemed to be affecting the Rogue compared to his first time on stage, because he dove right into the playfulness of the song, and proceeded to act it out quite effectively, even taking Barry’s hand on occasion and twirling him across the stage. Barry had no idea Len was such a good dancer. 

A quick step, a grab of Barry’s hand, a twirl in toward him, swaying when they got close with Barry leaning back against Len’s chest, wrapped in his arms, blushing in front of all their friends, but loving the warmth and the smooth sound of Len’s voice accompanying his own. He completely forgot he was supposed to be harboring some lingering resentment before he let his boyfriend sweep him off his feet again. 

When the song ended to the usual din from their group, hooting in approval, Len twirled Barry one more time and tugged him in tight, licking into his mouth for a rather obscene kiss on stage in front of more than just people who knew them. His boyfriend had definitely tipped over the edge from buzzed to drunk in short order. 

“Len,” Barry gasped out of the kiss, feeling the heat in his face, especially with how certain people—Lisa, Iris, and he was pretty sure Hartley was a third louder voice amidst the throng—egged them on. 

Barry yanked Len off stage quickly, but he didn’t miss the sultry look in his boyfriend’s eyes now. He’d never actually seen Len drunk before, he realized. 

“You need to earn that kind of behavior,” Barry scolded him, much as he couldn’t stop grinning. 

“Is that a challenge, Scarlet?”

Barry was in so much trouble. Especially when he looked around the room and saw that everyone was drunker than he’d realized, so he didn’t have any real backup. Diggle seemed to be the only one who’d switched to something tamer, nursing his second or third beer and avoiding the shots. At least someone would be able to help Barry lug all these people into cabs later. 

Barry shoved Len into a booth, and sat down opposite him to avoid roaming hands. He looked to Eddie apologetically beside him when Len’s first attempt at footsie found the detective’s leg instead. 

“My mistake, Eddie,” Len said, taking a sip from a fresh drink. “I forget we have more of a…look don’t touch policy.” He winked. 

“Len!”

“Uhh…” Eddie looked around as if seriously wishing he wasn’t boxed into the booth beside Barry.

“Cat got your tongue, detective, or fixated a little too much on where Barry’s tongue—ow!” Len winced when Barry kicked him hard under the table. 

Iris and Lisa’s joint scheming finally dragged Cisco up on stage, who it seemed had needed a significant amount of drinks to get to this point, but was finally drunk enough to comply. His cheeks were rosy, his grin impossibly wide as he looked back down into the crowd at Lisa with the dopiest expression of affection possible while crooning “Moondance” like an expert lounge singer. 

_Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance_  
_With the stars up above in your eyes_  
_A fantabulous night to make romance_  
_'Neath the cover of October skies_

Shawna and Caitlin both looked up from their solo table, finally pulled back into the group by the sheer amazingness of Cisco’s voice. All of the girls cheered him on loudly, and Barry even caught Mick nod in appreciation and mutter, “Nice,” from behind him.

Hartley pouted from one of the tables. Apparently, this was one thing he couldn’t even begin to challenge as being better at than Cisco. Lisa nudged him, saying it was high time he got up on that stage himself. He started to refuse, but Mick passed him another drink. 

“Don’t rain on our parade, Hart. You’re gettin’ up there too.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“I got somethin’ planned, don’t you worry.”

“Hey, you haven’t sang anything either, Mister,” Iris walked up to Barry’s booth and leaned over the table to poke Eddie’s arm. “Eddie has a lovely voice,” she said dreamily. 

“I really don’t,” Eddie shook his head. 

“He so does. You three need to do something together,” she twirled her finger at Eddie, Barry and—just as Eddie’s eyes widened at the prospect of him, Barry, and Len doing anything ‘together’—whirled to point behind her at Cisco as he hopped off stage. “Ooo, I know!”

Barry kicked Len again beneath the table, though more gently this time, as he got out of the booth, happy for a distraction, because as much fun as he was having, that look in Len’s eyes was downright dangerous. He yanked Eddie out of the booth after him. 

And holy shit, he hadn’t known about Cisco’s smooth falsetto, sure, but he definitely didn’t know Eddie could do such a nice bass until the three of them broke into perfectly harmonized parts on “For the Longest Time.” 

Now things were getting rowdy because far more of their group could sing than anyone had speculated, and Eddie seemed rejuvenated with a boost of confidence after several of their friends fawned over him coming off stage. 

Felicity, Laurel, Thea, and Shawna finally did “Lady Marmalade.” Convincing anyone of anything was far too easy at this point. Laurel did Pink, Felicity was Mya—both not half bad with some drunken courage—and Thea rocked the Lil’ Kim part, but Shawna once again blew everyone away by taking on Christina. 

Eddie and Cisco eventually cornered Hartley, who had been trying to hide. “Not happening,” Eddie said. “We got forced up there, so you’re next, Piper.” 

Hartley agreed only if Cisco sang with him and he got to choose the song. Barry snickered as he overheard, because Cisco was definitely too drunk to defend himself right now. 

The two tech geeks singing “Easy Lover” might have been the highlight of the night. 

_Easy lover_  
_She'll get a hold on you believe it_  
_Like no other_  
_Before you know it you'll be on your knees_

Cisco sang directly to Lisa, and while Hartley initially sang to Cisco with some purposely close dancing to throw him off balance, he soon fell in line to sing to Lisa along with him with fairly nice harmony. Lisa sure as hell enjoyed the show, and at least Cisco and Hartley weren’t glaring at each other for once. They even reconvened at a table together afterward. 

“You are so unfair, Hart. You can sing too.”

“Not as good as you, Ramon.”

Somewhere between Barry getting really distracted with Len and Mick singing “Fire and Ice”—and okay, Mick wasn’t anything special, but the two of them together singing Pat Benatar was glorious, and totally worth the wait to see Mick up there—and Caitlin and Iris butchering “Firework,” practically falling over themselves laughing, Cisco and Hartley switched topics and he overheard them discussing ways to improve on Hartley’s Silencers. 

“I have these Meta Malfunction bombs—still need a better name. What if we combined the idea with the Silencers!”

“Tapping into the nervous system, but targeting specific DNA!”

“But we still want people awake in case we need to interrogate someone.”

“We could have more than one setting. One for immediately dropping someone, one where they’re paralyzed but still conscious.”

Barry tried to pretend he wasn’t terrified at the prospect of what these two geniuses actually getting along could accomplish. Their session of ‘Mad Scientists, Unite!’ shouldn’t be alarming; it was a good thing—he hoped.

He couldn’t even be that bothered by how drunk everyone was considering the successful mixing of the groups, especially when he caught Oliver and Len talking hushed at one of the tables—way better than Len embarrassing Eddie any further. 

“Oliver, it was accidental we found out about the ring, I swear. That was low, even by my standards.”

“No, I…I heard about the Zapper. You saved Barry’s life. Wasn’t my place to bring it up.”

“So why haven’t you proposed to Felicity yet?”

Oliver downed the rest of his drink. For the sluggishness to their movements and slow blinking, their words barely even seemed slurred.

“Don’t wait for some ‘right time’, kid,” Len said, leaning conspiratorially closer, but not really hushed enough considering Felicity could stumble over at any moment. “There isn’t one. All those weeks I made Barry wait on me…a waste. Right time never comes. It all erupts instead, and you risk losing things you never had.”

“And what about that body count you’re so fond of bringing up?” Oliver scowled.

Len frowned with him. “Does Felicity care? No. Just loves the man you are. That should be enough.” He caught sight of Barry hovering and held out his hand to him. Barry didn’t really think too hard before grasping it, and then before he knew it, he was being tugged to sit on Len’s lap. Barry couldn’t dissent though, not over this, not when Len was so right and finally able to admit it. 

Oliver rubbed a hand down his face but smiled at them, almost envious, Barry thought, and that was silly, because Felicity loved him just as fiercely, the only difference was Oliver needed to believe a bit more that he deserved it. 

“Does that mean there’ll come a day you make Barry Mr. Allen-Snart?” Oliver asked, only mildly teasing. 

“Oh no,” Len shook his head, making Barry’s stomach sink before he could stop it. “But I can only hope to be lucky enough to become the next Mr. Allen.”

“What?” Barry turned and gaped at him, not having expected that, or the sweet, completely honest smile Len bestowed upon him, even if his eyes were glassy.

“We are not having a joint wedding,” Felicity suddenly appeared to claim Oliver’s lap, mirroring Len and Barry. Oliver looked mildly startled, but Felicity immediately said, “Not that I’m expecting…because I’m not. Totally no pressure. Just a pressure-less, easy-going gal over here. But you know, if that were to happen,” she turned to look at Barry, leaving Oliver relieved and laughing that the cat was not out of the bag, “I am not sharing my day with anyone, Barry Allen. The bride gets to be the prettiest on her wedding day, so that cute little face of yours is going to be expected to dress down.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about Barry being prettier than you on any day, honey,” Oliver hugged her. 

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Len squeezed Barry in tandem. “Felicity is lovely, but Barry is the prettiest thing in here.”

“Len!”

“That is simply not true,” Oliver said, and then contemplated seriously as his gaze went distant, “As pretty maybe…”

“Oh god…” Barry would have dropped his face to the table if he wasn’t in Len’s lap. Len and Oliver were both still smiling, not arguing, but this was not better.

“You are as pretty as me,” Felicity lamented, but then giggled and nearly fell out of Oliver’s lap.

“Dig, save me!” Barry called as the man breezed past him with a sober Laurel, but then Thea, Shawna, and Hartley in tow. Len refused to let go of his waist. 

“One cab at a time, Barry. Save yourself,” he said with a smile, ushering the first group out of the bar, which he seemed to have a handle on up until Hartley grabbed Cisco’s hand and yanked him up away from the table with Lisa.

“But we have more dastardly science to plan!”

“He can come too,” Diggle said. 

Lisa just laughed and waved as her boyfriend was carted off.

“Traitor!”

Barry did his best to organize the rest of the group before Diggle came back, though it wasn’t easy to disentangle from Len. In the end, they had an uneven number of people to get into cabs, so Barry told Diggle not to worry, he’d just flash Len back to Oliver’s place himself. 

He should have known better, because as soon as he and Len were alone in the bar, Len slammed him up against the wall beside the bathrooms. 

“Len! There are people—” He tried before his boyfriend’s tongue was down his throat. 

“Did you have a good time tonight, Scarlet?” Len asked, kissing down his neck. 

“I…I did, but—” 

“Forgive me yet?”

“Ugnnn…” Damn it felt so good when he sucked on the skin just below Barry’s ear. 

A guy walked over to the men’s bathroom, giving them an appraising eye and smirk as he noticed them. 

“Len…come on,” Barry tried once the guy disappeared through the door. “Stop it. I am flashing us somewhere you can sleep this off.”

“Any hard surface will do…” Len said as he licked Barry’s ear. 

Barry’s gut quivered, but while there was no one in direct view of them, he wrapped his arms more tightly around Len and zipped them out of the bar. Oliver and Felicity’s apartment wasn’t far, not enough for Len to burst into flames during the trip anyway. 

He tossed Len back onto the sofa in the main room. A few of the people from the first couple cabs were already back and passed out on various sleeping bags and air mattresses. Barry was pretty sure that, while Lisa had Cisco snuggled in close to her, that was Hartley’s arm curled around the other scientist, which would be hilarious come morning if they stayed in that position. 

The last cab, which included Oliver and Felicity, wasn’t back yet. 

“Come here,” Len said, and snagged Barry’s hand while he was distracted looking over the others, pulling him down on top of him. “I still have so much to make up for, don’t I?” he purred. 

And oh, Barry loved that idea, and would have been mostly on board if 1) Len wasn’t drunk right now, and 2) they weren’t surrounded by people they knew. That one time with Eddie catching them in the kitchen was mortifying enough. Barry glanced purposely toward Iris and Eddie to make sure they at least were both asleep. 

Len kissed him again, slid his hands up Barry’s shirt. 

“Len!” Barry hissed. “You can make the rest up to me later. When we’re alone. And sober.”

“You’re sober.”

“Both sober.”

“I could never be too drunk or too sober to not want you, Scarlet.”

Barry preened a little but shook his head. “Good to know, but when you are sober, we’re going to have a long talk about you wanting to become Mr. Allen,” he said pointedly.

Len nuzzled his neck, held him there atop him. “Deal,” he breathed. 

Barry shivered. “Thank you for trying so hard with Oliver.”

“Mmm…he’s not so bad. Just thinks it’s his job to protect everyone he cares about without asking for help.”

“And who does that remind you of?” Barry snickered. 

Len brought his hands to Barry’s face and lifted him up so they could look eye to eye. “You,” he said and kissed him again. 

“Not what I meant,” Barry laughed, sputtering out of the lip lock. It would be too easy to give in, but then the rest of the group would come walking in the door at the most inopportune time. “Later,” he said, relieved when Len’s hands finally dropped from his waist. “But I love you.”

He waited for the like response, so when nothing came, he lifted himself up again. Len’s hands had fallen away because the bastard was out cold. Figured. 

Barry laid there another moment more, but when he heard someone at the door, he lifted up fully, shifted Len’s legs aside so he could sit on the edge of the sofa, and turned back. 

Diggle had Felicity asleep in his arms, and Oliver leaning heavily against him. “A little help?”

XXXXX

Barry slept in Len’s arms on the sofa in the end, there wasn’t much room anywhere else, but since his sleep wasn’t the same dead weight unconsciousness as most of the others, he was the first awake. Literally everyone—except Diggle, who had gone home—was sprawled out somewhere in the living room, Laurel and Thea sharing the extra bedroom, while Oliver and Felicity had their own. 

Carefully, Barry pulled away from Len’s attentive hold, and tiptoed around the others toward the kitchen. His speed wouldn’t help much in a sneaking situation—too much updraft. He set about making coffee. And pancakes. Carbs would be good for everyone. He even found a stoneware pan and some good thick-cut bacon he put in the oven. In no time the kitchen was filled with various smells of breakfast. 

Barry expected Iris to be the first to rise, since her nose was notorious for recognizing breakfast cooking, but instead he saw Len poke his head up from the couch, rubbing his eyes, and then Oliver came slumping slowly and quietly down the stairs. 

The pair of them worked their way around the others together to join Barry in the kitchen. Oliver leaned against the counter, while Len dragged over a stool to sit in. 

“I am going to admit,” Oliver said, “there are a few parts of last night that are not crystal clear.”

“We didn’t do anything particularly embarrassing, did we?” Len asked.

Barry turned to grab up some mugs so he could hide his smirk. “Only a very impressive rendition of that Monica and Brandy song, ‘The Boy is Mine’.”

He glanced back to find both of them mortified. 

“Kidding! Had you going for a second though.” He snickered as they relaxed, and continued preparing coffee for them the way he knew they liked it—which amazingly enough was exactly the same. “Some of the songs, granted, might have been worse than that. We’ll see, I guess, since I’m pretty sure Thea and Shawna bonded over taking videos to post on YouTube.” 

Len and Oliver shook their heads, but shared a look that said they weren’t at all regretful. 

“Does our embarrassment and slight hangovers at all absolve us of our crimes, Barry?” Len asked.

“Mmm…nope. But your genuine desire to be forgiven does. Just don’t let it happen again.” He handed Len one of the mugs, leaned over the counter, and kissed him soundly. Then he passed the other mug to Oliver. “Only coffee for you, sorry, but you’re still forgiven,” he grinned.

Oliver laughed, and Len shook his head as he sipped gratefully from the coffee.

“Thank you, Barry,” Oliver said. “Guess I should rouse the troops. We have a sorcerer to meet today. Which we will do as a unified front.” He nodded to Barry, then smiled at Len and patted him on the shoulder. He headed off with his coffee to make good on waking the others. 

The oven beeped and Barry turned back to find the bacon cooked evenly. He took it out and set it on the stovetop to cool. When he looked back, Len was watching him with an expression of pure, uncensored love. Barry really couldn’t stay mad at that. 

He paused to lean over the counter again, stole another quick kiss, then turned back to finish making breakfast. “And what’ll you have, Mr. Allen?”

Len promptly choked on his coffee.


	32. EPILOGUE: Mr. Allen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Still up for becoming Mr. Allen, Captain Cold?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have accomplished everything I set out to do with this fic, every request and idea for the Epilogue, and can finally say that this is the definitive end. As I mentioned on tumblr, I'll be taking a break from fic writing and headcanons in November to focus on finishing my current novel for NaNoWriMo, but rest assured, I have much more ColdFlash to share with you when I return. I'll still be on tumblr, and trying to catch up on my reading, and will share some tidbits of my original story as I work on it. 
> 
> This one is dedicated to Notsalony who wanted them to break the bed. ;-) At last!
> 
> Also, do check out my little tumblr image set for this final chapter, it was fun to make: http://crimsondomingo.tumblr.com/post/131575204394/teaser-for-the-next-and-last-epilogue-chapter
> 
> I know I'll miss someone trying to thank you all, so let me just mention a few, especially those who almost always, always take the time to comment, like LiselleVelvet, Daughter_of_Scotland, Mulder200, kipsi, dragdragdragon, Wolves_of_Innistrad, witch20, RedHead, writerdragonfly, Delen, KuroHi91, MomoMoon115, IrreverentFangirl, Granvas, Jellyfish415, Notsalony again, and coldflashtrash for liveblogging for so long, as well as I'm sure dozens of others from the ColdFlash tumblr family, because you are all the absolute best.
> 
> You have all been so welcoming since the beginning, proving that this is just the nicest fandom anyone could hope to be a part of, so here's to keeping that going long into future seasons of this show. This fic has meant just so much to me, caused me to fall hopelessly in love with this pairing, more so than ever with The Flash, and to adore Captain Cold in a way I never thought possible, so truly...truly thank you all, and please, if you've enjoyed this insane ride, let me know. And please, please, please check out some of the amazing fics in this fandom, because we are growing, and more and more fantastic ficcage presents itself every day. Remember that we're all here to cheer each other on and bask in the trash together. 
> 
> Happy Flash Day! And, as always...

Barry stared at the way his hands gripped the wooden bars of the headboard, his wrists secured in place with old neckties wrapped tight. He was on his knees, back arched, legs spread apart, left hard and hot between his thighs as he felt cool blue eyes on him from behind. 

“This may be my new favorite position for you, Scarlet. Tied up. On display.”

Len’s voice was several feet away, between the bed and the door, watching from a distance that made Barry strain against his bonds in anticipation. He wasn’t allowed to speak unless specifically asked to. That’s how he’d wanted it when he described this fantasy to Len. 

“You set the rules,” Barry had said. “You control every. Little. Step. I want to be teased and tortured, Len, completely at your mercy.”

Len had swallowed deep as he looked back at Barry, their faces close, breath on each other’s lips. “You got it, kid. But I hope you know what you’re in for.”

Barry hadn’t known, hadn’t realized how much his dirty talking drove Len crazy until he was on the receiving end. It had been ten minutes since Len undressed him and tied him to the bed, left there, ordered not to turn his head, so he never knew when Len might approach or finally touch him. All Len had done was tell him what he planned to do, how gorgeous he looked, how much Len was going to make him scream, but he hadn’t moved so much as an inch closer judging by the distance of his voice. 

Barry throbbed. He couldn’t touch himself, couldn’t beg to be touched, just had to kneel in place and wait. It was sweet torture all right, but that’s what he'd asked for. 

“Maybe I won’t touch you at all. Maybe I’ll fuck you and leave you weeping. Let you stay like that all night begging to get off. Lose your mind a little. Willing to do anything I ask.”

Barry moaned, squirmed. He was willing now. He knew he wouldn’t deny Len anything, no matter how kinky, if he asked for it tonight, not that he expected anything cruel or harsh. Most people didn’t know how gentle Leonard Snart could be, how sweet, how attentive. 

This position meant Barry couldn’t see Len, couldn’t look at him or kiss him or even take him into his mouth if he wanted to. Barry couldn’t touch him. He could only be touched, and fucked, and used… 

There was something so sensual about that thought when it was accompanied by complete trust. By love. Barry didn’t fear, he merely wanted. He wanted everything Len had to offer. 

Finally, a rustle of cloth—Len removing his shirt. He’d been standing there this whole time fully dressed. Barry heard the dull thud of a sweater hit the floor. Heard Len’s zipper being undone. 

Yes, he thought, he was ready. He hadn’t even been grazed with the tips of Len’s fingers, but he felt so open, he doubted he’d complain if Len slid right in without a single preparatory stretch. 

“I’m going to draw this out til you quiver, kid, and can’t hold back the tremors. You’re dripping, you know? Pooling little drops onto the sheets. That’s how much you want this.”

A rustle and faint clink of the zipper sounded as his jeans hit the floor. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside. Barry listened for Len to approach the bed, but the room went silent. If he was allowed to speak, all he’d be able to say was, “Please,” the only fully formed thought in his head, everything else just mush and overrun sensations. 

“Remember the first time we were in this room? How I licked my way inside you. Got you wet for me. Had you begging for it.”

Barry moaned again, the only type of noise he was permitted. He remembered vividly. He had taken a very thorough shower before this excursion, hoping they might relive that.

“I might do that again. But I won’t touch you. Not til I’m buried deep and ready to come. Then, maybe, I’ll offer relief. If I’m feeling generous. Or, like I said, maybe I’ll leave you there all night, lulled to sleep by you pleading to get off. Then one touch the next morning, and you’ll come from sheer exhaustion. You’ll have to be very, very good to earn the chance to come tonight, Barry. Can you be good for me?”

“Yes,” Barry jumped at the chance to speak. “So good. Anything you want. Please.”

“Shhh, now…spread those legs a little wider for me.”

Barry did immediately, balancing on his knees, sore from the position, his back, his thighs, but just wanting to feel Len’s hands on him, anywhere. He knew Len would make good on his promise not to touch him between the legs until the very end, maybe even tease him a bit more about leaving him there, unfulfilled all night, so he steeled himself for the torture to come. 

The creak of the floor, despite Len’s near silent steps, alerted Barry that he’d moved for the bed at last. Then a dip as the mattress depressed beneath Len’s weight. Expectation made Barry quake, and oh, he could feel how wet he was, how much he was indeed dripping a little pool onto the sheets. 

A full minute passed where Barry wanted to speak, beg, cry, but held back, never knowing when relief would come, until finally, finally he felt a cool hand at his ankle. Then another. Together they smoothed up the back of his calves and he shuddered just from that bare, simplistic touch. 

“My, oh my, are you hungry for it,” Len husked out, the closer proximity of his voice making Barry whimper. “They say anticipation is the best part. Maybe you don’t need to tumble down over the peak, Barry. Maybe you prefer it like this…held in suspension.”

A pleading whine fell from Barry’s lips, louder than his moans. Len had stopped at the back of his knees. 

“Do you disagree, Barry?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Hmmm…then what do you want?”

Synapses fired and misfired in his brain—he wanted too much. All he managed to say was, “Hands.” 

“Yes?” Len slowly slid his hands up the back of Barry’s thighs. 

“I w-want them…everywhere.” 

“Everywhere but where you really need them,” Len said. “That I can provide.”

His palms smoothed up Barry’s ass, teasing trailing fingers on either side of his entrance but not touching there, not yet. He continued on up Barry’s back, to his shoulders, down his arms, up to his tied wrists. 

Barry felt Len behind him now, the heat from him, but not skin. Len’s knees settled in between Barry’s, but he didn’t lean forward to press his chest to Barry’s back, keeping his distance. 

He brought his hands down again, around Barry’s sides to his chest, trailing down his stomach to his hips. Barry twitched between his legs, groaned at how close Len was, louder still when Len purposely avoided even lightly grazing his erection and instead spread his hands apart to run down the front of Barry's thighs. Then up again to graze his thumbs along the seam where Barry's thighs and hips met, so close but not nearly close enough to actually touching him. 

“How much do you want it, Barry?” Len asked, hands holding steady, squeezing where they gripped the crease of his thighs. 

Barry rocked forward, desperate for any kind of friction. “So much. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yessss.”

At last Len laid his chest on Barry’s back, brought his lips to Barry’s ear, licked the lobe lightly. “Too bad. You’ll just have to suffer til I’m done with you.”

A longer, deeper moan left Barry, and he felt a vibrating shiver run through him. 

Len chuckled low, a purposely chilling sound that made Barry shiver again—a normal shiver, but with the pulse of vibrations ever lingering in the distance. 

Len pulled away, removed his hands, rocked back, leaving Barry again for a solid minute without speaking or touching him. Just watching...watching... Then, without any hint or warning of movement, Barry cried out as a smooth tongue penetrated him, plunging as deep as it could in a single stroke. Barry practically sobbed at how good it felt, how he pulsed hotter and almost painfully between his legs, and his gut clenched. 

“Do you like the way I feel inside you, Barry?” Len asked, and darted in his tongue again, like a long, lingering, open-mouthed kiss. 

Barry wailed pitifully before he managed to stutter out, “Y-y-yes.”

Again—Barry didn’t know how Len could get his tongue to go so deep. “Good. Coz you’re so loose and open for me, you don’t even need a helping hand, do you?”

“N-No…just you. Need you…”

“Need what?”

“Your...cock.”

“Be more specific, Barry.” He thrust his tongue in again, short, fast movements, then longer, slow twirls that dug right into Barry and made his legs tremble. 

“Need your cock...inside me, deep…so deep.”

“Nothing else? You don’t need anything else?”

“Only your cock, please…please fuck me.”

“Sounds like you’re asking to be left untouched tonight, Barry,” Len chuckled. He pulled away again, hands, mouth, the heat of his body as he leaned back. 

“No,” Barry keened. He'd meant fingers stretching him, not... He did want to be fucked, but if Len didn’t touch his cock eventually too, he’d go insane. “Please touch me. Please…”

“I don’t know if you’ve earned it,” Len said, oh so smug and taunting. Barry heard the telltale sound of a cap opening and knew Len was coating himself with lube. 

He relaxed—marginally. 

“You said you’d do anything. Maybe I like you in this state. Desperate. Shaking.”

“I will. I will do anything, I’ll still do anything.”

“Then you better take it, and love it, and be as loud as you can, Barry. And maybe…maybe I’ll let you come.”

Barry screamed in barely contained pleasure when Len pressed to his entrance, hands firm on his hips, slick heat stretching Barry much wider than that teasing tongue. He opened for Len so readily, so easily. Len still thrust in slow, a pace Barry was used to, giving him time to adjust around every newly entered inch. Sometimes, other nights, it would be too much all at once, he’d need a break, to catch his breath before they tried again, but not this time. This time he wanted all of Len, all at once, as deep as he could go. 

Len didn’t disappoint. He rocked solidly into Barry, so deep Barry heard the headboard creak with how he pushed and pulled on it with the force of Len’s first backstroke. So many words sprang to mind, threatening to pour out of Barry, but he had to obey, had to do as he was told, and he’d only been told to be loud. 

He moaned, cried out, whimpered pathetically with every new thrust. Len didn’t just jerk his hips forward, he rolled them, twisted inside of Barry, found all his angles and secret corners. Barry thrummed with power, shook, vibrated, felt the lightning in his veins sparking. 

Through it all, Len never touched him, merely hung on, occasionally ran his hands up Barry’s back, but never down between his legs, never there where he desperately needed it. He fucked Barry slow, deep, then faster and faster as he huffed against his skin, “Tell me you love it, Barry…”

“I…I love it.”

“You love to be teased.”

“I do.”

“You love to be fucked and left wanting.”

“Yes, it’s so good…I’ll do anything, anything.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you…god, I love you so much, Len.”

“Say you’ll never…never leave me.”

A pit in Barry’s stomach opened, and he gasped at how it shook him, how raw and sad Len sounded suddenly. “Len…never. Never…”

“You and me, kid, forever…that’s all I want.”

“You have me forever…forever, Len, I promise.”

And while the heat built, and Barry was going mad from it all, how good it felt with Len inside him, hitting the sweet spot again and again, even the torture of wanting to be touched and being denied, that passion fueled into something else. 

The scene, the role-play, the teasing banter all fell away in the wake of something more, the deep, emotional connection there, that only two people in love could share. It wasn’t just hot, it was searing, and it made Barry tremble from more than just the need to come. 

“I love you…I love you…” Barry said again, riding out the build to Len’s release, he could feel it coming, hear the hitch in Len’s breath that he knew so well.

“Barry…fuck, kid, you’re the best thing in my life.” He gasped, stuttered forward, grunted as he started to come…and reached his hand around Barry’s waist to grip him hard and tight and stroke with sudden fervor. 

Barry screamed again, couldn’t not, couldn’t handle having been denied this entire time only to suddenly feel everything at once, Len still coming deep inside him, with his hands on him, and his breath shuddering as if tears were in his eyes. Barry came hard with another cry, harsh pleading whimpers, and then sobs of relief leaving him with possibly the best orgasm he could remember as he shook and shook and vibrated so hard…

The headboard snapped with a crack.

Barry and Len both froze. The whole thing came away from the main frame, the rods Barry was tied to snapping at the same time, and the bed heaved, precarious without proper support, telling of much harsher structural damage than they could see—likely built up over time from similar acts and Barry vibrating like no normal human could—and all at once the whole thing toppled with a crash as the bedframe buckled.

They panted, stilled their movements, rocking only just slightly in the aftermath, swaying, as Len’s other arm snaked around Barry’s chest to hug him close. 

“Well…” he said, stunned at first before amusement caught up to him and he started laughing. 

Barry chuckled too, couldn’t help it. Eventually, they were lost in full blown laughter together, while still connected on what was left of Barry’s bed. 

They disentangled eventually, slowly. Len untied Barry from the now broken off bars from his headboard that were then tossed aside. They rolled onto their backs, lying amidst the mess, broken bits of bedframe all around and beneath the mattress on the floor. But for a moment it didn’t matter. They laughed, reached for each other, kissed. 

“That fulfill your fantasy, Scarlet?” Len asked, blue eyes twinkling, but there was moisture there, Barry could see, proof of the emotion behind it all. 

Barry held Len’s face. “You fulfill my fantasies every day. But yeah, that was super hot, you are unbelievably amazing, and I love you.” He grinned, leaning forward to kiss Len again before the other man could laugh at him too loudly. “Now what are we going to do about this bed?”

It didn’t make sense for Barry to get another one. Len’s bed at his new apartment was reinforced metal, one of the pieces of furniture Barry had helped pick out, since it was something that in many ways was both of theirs—Barry slept there more often than he slept at home. And that was just the thing. Joe’s place would always be home, but it had started to feel secondary to being wherever Len was. 

Joe finding out about Barry’s broken bed was the final push. 

“Okay, I’ll admit I don’t want to know how you managed to wreck that bed the way you did, but Barry…I didn’t mean move in with the guy!” Joe said when Barry told him. But there was a smile in Joe’s voice, a certain acceptance of the whole thing that had grown over time, getting to know Len, seeing them together, how well they worked at each other’s sides, how much Len loved him. “You sure about this?”

“Dad moved out weeks ago, Joe, to his own place. It’s high time I had mine too. I love living here, you know I do, but…I practically live at Len’s place anyway, and it’s not fair the time we spend here, when it’s your house and…can be kind of awkward.”

Joe offered an embarrassed smile and shook his head. “No denying that.”

“And I want to live with him, Joe. I want to be with Len…for the rest of my life."

Joe's expression shifted to a carefully constructed mask. "That sounds like more than just moving in together, Barry."

"Yeah..." Barry glanced aside, unable to hide his smile. He scratched the back of his neck. "About that..."

XXXXX

"You sure about this, Barry?" Cisco asked.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Barry said, only mildly irritated. He knew what he wanted.

"Dude, you two are disgustingly cute together, no one denies that."

"But if you're really ready for this," Iris said, glancing around mischievously at the others.

Eddie mirrored her, though he always looked more playful and sweet when he tried to look devious. "Let us help you, Barry."

"We maybe have some ideas," Caitlin said.

"Schemes, if you will," Lisa added with a proud smirk.

Even Hartley buzzed with excitement. "He'll never see it coming, Allen. Trust us."

XXXXX

Len checked his watch—nine minutes, fifty-seven seconds. Plenty of time to get the goods out of the museum with Mardon and Bivolo on point. 

He had been surprised the two asked to work together on this one, but then it was no secret that Hartley and Shawna were often seen helping out Team ColdFlash. Weather Wizard and Rainbow Raider were the only Rogues left not living double lives—or maybe it was more like triple lives, given the cover of Saints and Sinners.

As long as the more dangerous villains, and those less likely to reform, understood that a deal was in place. Mardon wouldn’t go after Barry, or the Wests, if he thought he had free reign in the city compared to lesser criminals. The Rogues were the only ones who almost always got away with their crimes. And as far as the public knew, those with Team ColdFlash were fully rehabilitated, even if they often helped with heists too. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it kept the truly dangerous ones—like Mardon—from going off the rails on their own. Besides, Len couldn’t deny that he enjoyed an occasional heist, the chance to see if Barry could actually thwart him like the good old days. He’d wondered if Barry would even show up to this one, since he never point blank told Barry whenever he was helping out his Rogues—that would spoil the fun. 

“Well, if it isn’t your favorite sparring partner, Cold,” Mardon said over the coms. Hartley had gotten them nicely setup for joint jobs. 

“He’s your partner to start, Mardon. Just like we planned in case The Flash showed up. Gotta give the public a good show. Lead him right to me. Bivolo, you get the last of those paintings and make for the exit.”

The night before, Barry had practically given Len his alibi. In their apartment—their apartment; Len would never tire of that—Barry had been stirring dinner when he mentioned helping Oliver the next night in Star City.

“I won’t be gone all night—it’s me, I can flash home right after—but it’ll probably be late. Oliver and Constantine butt heads more than you two used to. I think he wants a neutral party around.”

Watching Barry at the stove like that, dressed in just a plain, white T-shirt and sweats, stirred something primal in Len. The curve of the fabric over Barry’s ass, shifting with his movements. The smell of the chili, a recipe they had perfected together, a mesh of both their styles and concepts of just what made chili perfect—Barry adding curry powder, Len insisting on tomato paste instead of puree, a constant teasing argument over which beers were best for the base—was all the more perfect because it was theirs. Like the apartment now, and everything in it. 

Len had slipped up behind Barry, sleeves rolled up on his slate blue sweater, hugging Barry close againat him as his hands trailed up the speedster’s chest then down to the waistband of his sweatpants. “Not a problem, Scarlet. I’m sure I can keep myself occupied.”

Barry giggled, leaning into him and sighing at the contact. “Mmm, you are good at keeping occupied.”

Len had figured Barry would hear about the heist later that night, maybe not until morning, and laugh as he chided Len about having fun without him. This was much better. Barry must have finished in Starling early, maybe got a call from the labs and decided to escape whatever Oliver and Constantine were putting him through. 

Scanning the museum from his perch on the neighboring roof, Len waited for Mardon’s signal. Bivolo would exit to the south, taking the getaway vehicle parked in the alley, and book it to the nearest safe house. At the moment, Mardon exited to the north, conjuring hail to pelt at his pursuer as the familiar lightning trail of The Flash zipped out of the museum after him. 

Len grinned. Now he just had to get to the museum roof before Mardon led Barry up there. He dashed excitedly to the precarious metal grating that spanned across the two buildings. Meant for maintenance, the walkway wasn’t really ideal for civilian use, only the occasional need to check the breakers of each building, since they were connected on the same grid. 

Len fired his gun to coat the walkway in ice, backed up several paces, then took off at a sprint, dropping down and sliding his way across at breakneck speed. He rolled to his feet with the ease of a dancer as soon as he was on the other side.

Thunder rumbled from below, while the sky above remained clear and dotted with twinkling stars. Mardon had perfected levitating himself with his powers—Len refused to say that the meta human could fly—and he carried himself up onto the roof with a whirlwind storm surrounding him. Len crouched low to keep hidden as Mardon dropped to his feet on the roof and sprinted across it where he’d eventually meet up with Bivolo in the street below.

“Like clockwork, boss,” Bivolo said over the coms. “Meet you in thirty, Weather Man.”

“It’s Weather Wizard, Raider, get it right,” Mardon laughed—they’d all come to love their Cisco-given code names. 

Just as Mardon reached the other end of the roof, he jumped up onto the ledge and turned around to face The Flash, who zipped up after him, scaling the wall of the building easily, and stopped just as Len expected to square off with Mardon, keeping the span of the rooftop between them. 

“Give it up, Weather Wizard!” Barry called with a wide grin, fists clenched, but pure adrenaline and joy in his voice. “You know I’m faster. You’ll never make it to rendezvous with Raider. I’ll have the both of you locked down in time for The Late Show.”

“Not this time, Flash!” Mardon spread his arms as he lifted himself off the roof, lightning and cloud cover and howling wind accompanying his ascent. 

Barry hunkered low, and Len had seconds to time his shot, something he’d refined over time, knowing every telltale sign of Barry’s powers as well as he knew every dip and curve of the kid’s body. Barry’s lightning sparked, yellow and brilliant, to counter the white-blue of Mardon’s. Len fired, coating the ground in front of Barry like a red carpet of ice, tripping the speedster over his own feet until he stumbled and slid helter-skelter toward the edge of the roof. 

Mardon laughed again and gave Len a quick salute before disappearing over the side of the building to meet Bivolo. “That’s what I call a dishonest night’s work, friends,” he said over the coms. “Gun the engines, Roy. I’m buying you a drink. You coming, boss?”

Len stalked out from behind his hiding place toward Barry’s crumpled form at the edge of the roof. “Another time, boys. I have a prior engagement.”

“Sure you do,” Bivolo said with humor in his voice. 

Len heard the purr of the getaway car’s engine. He turned his coms off. 

Barry hissed as he righted himself, zipping to his feet and staring down the side of the building before whipping back around when Len charged his gun at him. 

“Wouldn’t think about following them, Flash. I have quotas to keep.”

Barry grinned, more eager than Len would have expected, even if they did enjoy their game; he must have really missed him during his trek to Star City. “I think you’ve fed me that line before, Cold.”

“Have I? I’d stop recycling the same old lines and moves, Scarlet, if they didn’t work so well on you.” Len indicated the trail of ice. He kept his gun aimed, fully prepared to blast Barry if he made a move. After all, he could easily remove the effects of the cold gun now, so there was never any danger, just the thrill of the hunt. 

“What if a news helicopter flies past and sees us squaring off again? What will the public think?” Barry teased him, circling slowly to move away from the ledge, careful around the patch of ice.

“That’s just a risk we’ll have to take. At least until my Rogues make their getaway. If anyone notices us up here, we’ll just have to claim ‘lover’s quarrel’.”

“Ha! You better hope not.” Barry feinted left then flashed right. Len blasted the air in front of him rather than try and follow the kid’s lightning trail. He caught an edge of Barry’s suit, and forced him out of the speed force holding his frozen elbow. He vibrated it to warm up, no reverse settings on the gun required. 

“Slowing down, Flash, or going easy on me?”

“Never.” In seconds, Barry was on the move again, faster than Len could get another shot. He fired, but found himself staring at nothing. 

He spun around. Nothing there either. 

Static crackled over his earpiece. He knew it wasn’t Bivolo or Mardon, since he’d already closed that channel. He didn’t think Barry would have ditched him to chase the pair down either, not for something as benign as a few paintings—regardless of their impressive worth. 

“Got Cisco to hack my Rogue coms, huh?” Len said, making a constant, slow circle, eyeing every corner of the roof for wherever Barry might be hiding. To avoid confusion, there were completely different coms used for Rogue business compared to Team ColdFlash. 

The crackle of static evened out as Barry’s voice came over the line, “Who says it wasn’t Piper?”

Len laughed—that wouldn’t surprise him at all.

The previous night, after chili, which had turned out flawless—even if Len insisted that a porter would serve better for the base next time—they’d spent the rest of the night draped over each other on the sofa, watching old episodes of Sliders. The kid had been too young when the show originally aired, but little by little they were expanding each other’s sci-fi horizons. Len had always loved Sliders, the idea of alternate realities and new worlds, not that he bought into multiverse theory for real—possible other timelines were bad enough. 

But that’s all they’d done. Eat. Watch TV. Snuggle into each other’s arms. Fully domesticated—at least for the night. By the time they fell into bed, they’d barely remembered to kiss each other goodnight. Yet it had felt just as fulfilling and pleasurable as their most recent erotic behavior, ever impressive as that was and looking to outdo the time before. 

That was the part Len never expected about falling in love with Barry Allen, how the pleasure he got from the kid’s body, his hands and lips and occasional vibrations, paled in comparison to a simple night in, just being in his company. 

Len had never experienced that with anyone else, and he never wanted to. 

They had domestic down, more than ever now that they shared a home. They excelled at any and all activities in the bedroom, and occasionally elsewhere too. And they had this—Cold and Flash, at odds or on the same side, still always able to surprise each other. 

“Raider and Weather Wizard are getting away, Flash,” Len said, still eyeing his surroundings for any sign of a flicker of yellow lightning, slowly backing toward the wall he’d hidden behind before. 

“Maybe I’m more interested in you.”

“That so?” Barry was close, Len knew it, could sense it, even though he’d seen nothing to tell him that for sure, and could only hear Barry’s voice over the coms. “Come and get me then, Flash. I’m not so easy to sneak up on.”

“Oh believe me,” Len heard through his earpiece, and then from right behind his back, Barry added, “I have you right where I want you.”

Len whirled around, gun ready, already whirring in preparation to fire, a mad grin on his face, but as his gaze was trained upward, expecting Barry to be at eye level, he hesitated when he found nothing. Before he could reorient himself, he realized he should be looking down…where Barry rested on one knee.

The kid’s cowl was drawn back, a beautiful grin stretching the length of his handsome, boyish face, as he held up a small, navy-colored, velvet box with a gleaming silver ring inside. It was wider than a normal band, but thin and light, perfect to wrap snugly around a larger male finger. It split in the center, halving an intricately designed snowflake cutout.

Len lowered his gun, expression slackening in sheer amazement, his goggles washing out everything in a faint tinge of blue. He dragged them from his eyes to be sure he wasn’t imagining this spectacle. “Barry…”

“Cisco already has plans for a gold one for me with a lightning bolt,” he said, "but this one was my design. Do you like it?"

The cold gun nearly dropped the rest of the way from Len's fingers to the roof. He stared, the blood draining from his face. "How...? When?"

"Been planning for a few weeks now. Everyone helped set this up. Even Mardon and Bivolo. Lisa got me your ring size."

"Mardon and..." Len's brain could not compute this. The heist had been a ploy? "They made off with five million in stolen art."

"Yeah, well...I figured the city owed us one.” He smiled even wider somehow, remaining in that position, holding the ring out to Len. 

Len couldn’t stop staring at it, at Barry’s smile, at this impossible man, doing this impossible thing, all for him. He sucked in a breath when Barry took the ring from the box, sat the then empty box on the roof, and held his free hand out to Len. 

“Leonard Snart—”

“Wait.” Len held up a hand like a stop, saw the way it shook—his left hand, since his gun was in his right—and squeezed it into a fist, drawing it back to his chest. Barry’s smile faltered but didn’t drop, as Len scrambled to get control of his thoughts. “This is...big, kid. We’ve joked about it, I know, but...it hasn’t even been a year.” Since a building fell on his head and changed his life forever. 

Len felt like the worst villain for interrupting the moment, for ruining it for Barry, but he had to speak the truth, had to voice his doubts, had to be sure Barry knew what he was asking. 

The kid just smiled more sweetly. “I don’t need a year. I don’t think I needed that first full month. I know we just moved in together, I know this might seem fast, but I also know what I want. I’m happy with you, Len. Deliriously happy. You say you want forever, and that is all I want too.”

“Because I’m selfish and I can’t—” Len’s voice caught, and he sucked in air so it wouldn’t be too obvious that his throat was choking on something thick, making his face hot, and his vision blurry, “—can’t imagine living without you. I can’t…couldn’t…”

“And neither could I,” Barry finished for him, endlessly patient as he held the ring, and his other hand reached for Len waiting for him to take it. “So why should we?” 

Len knew it was stupid to second guess himself now, after everything, after months, after those first several pitfalls where he wouldn’t even let Barry in, tried to pretend they’d be better off apart. After growing so close that they were extensions of each other, on and off the battlefield. After almost losing Barry too many times, and saving each other a hundred times more, a dozen different ways. 

This was different. This was something he’d never thought he’d have for himself, something he never thought he’d want this badly.

“You sure about this?” he asked, so softly, his voice came out in a breath, and he couldn’t deny that his eyes were watering. 

Barry’s smile cracked and he chuckled lightly. “Everyone keeps asking me that. And I only have one answer.” He took a deep breath, stretched out his waiting hand a little further. “Still up for becoming Mr. Allen, Captain Cold?”

Len pressed his lips together, tried to squint his eyes to keep the tears from building, from falling, because damn it, he was stronger than this, he couldn’t lose his composure so easily and become some blubbering mess. But he wasn’t strong. Not always. Barry made him weak, and it was the most wonderful weakness he’d ever known. 

“I’d be happy my whole life, kid…never asking for anything else.” Len’s left hand grabbed Barry’s outstretched right one and tugged him up in one strong pull onto his feet and into his body until their lips met. Len gripped Barry’s hand to his chest, and kissed as firmly as he could to seal his answer. 

A chorus of cheers sounded over the coms, loud enough that Len heard an echo from Barry's cowl. They laughed into each other’s mouths as they broke apart. 

“Who all is on the coms right now?” Len demanded. 

Barry shrugged, laughter still in his voice, in his eyes. “Who all do we know?”

Len laughed with him again in utter disbelief. He tuned out the din of voices, not listening, not caring about a thing any of them said as Barry kept hold of his left hand, held it up, removed his glove and dropped it unceremoniously to the ground, then slid the snowflake ring onto his finger. Len’s hand was steady as he stared at it. The ring fit like it was made for him—because it had been. 

“And now…” Barry said. 

Len just breathed, still numb, and amazed, and not believing this was real, as Barry pulled away from him and produced a duffle bag from seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Hang on.”

“Wha—”

A flutter of movement cut Len off. He knew this feeling, the lightning fast tickle of fingers and moving fabric all over his body. When he caught his breath and blinked awareness, he saw Barry zipping up his parka and cold gun into the duffle. Len now wore one of his more tailored suits, navy blue, a grey vest, a blue and grey tie to match, while Barry wore his simpler black suit, though a deep burgundy tie stood out against his white shirt. 

“Did you just…?” 

“Well, we do have an engagement party to get to.” 

“Engagement party…?” Len continued to gawk. The whole gang had been in on this, and Barry had even come prepared to dress them both for a late night party in celebration. 

Finally collecting himself, smirking at the adorably smug speedster as Barry hoisted the duffle over his shoulder, Len couldn’t help saying, “You didn’t know if I’d say yes.” 

Barry shrugged. “I had an idea.” 

Len reached forward with both hands, just needing to touch Barry, feel his thumbs along the kid’s cheekbones, his fingertips brushing into that soft hair. He kissed him, and for a moment, all the kisses before it seemed to compare themselves to the one they were sharing now—their first, in the dark, in the labs, stressed and desperate; the harsh, cruel one in the warehouse when Len had tried so hard to break Barry; a pleading press of Barry’s lips after he’d saved Len, and Len had finally confessed why he’d tried so hard to push him away; so many missed ones, and interrupted ones; presses of apology and promise; the first time Len told Barry he loved him. 

This kiss, now, wasn’t better than any of those; one kiss never needed to be better than the next. They just needed to have Barry on the opposite end. 

Len shuddered when he pulled back, still holding Barry’s face. He wanted to say ‘I love you’, wanted to offer promises about how good he’d be to him, how happy he’d make him, how no matter what he would always be there, and they’d live out a fairytale ending. But he couldn’t make all those promises, only that he’d love Barry until the end of his days. 

So instead he said, “What say we skip the party and I just get you into bed?” 

“Don’t even think about it, Lenny,” Lisa’s voice chimed over the coms. 

Len snapped back with a groan and ripped his earpiece out, the one part of his costume Barry had forgotten. “Mind your own business, Lise!” Len shouted into it. “And you better be pouring us some champagne right now, sis, coz I cannot promise how long I’ll last before I pull my fine, young fiancé into a dark corner.”

Len was fairly certain he heard Hartley hoot approval amidst the chorus of laugher that sounded before he shoved the earpiece into his pocket. 

“Hey!” he cried out as Barry scooped him into his arms, full on bridal carry, which seemed more insult to injury than ever given the occasion—and damn if Len didn’t love it, and how easily Barry supported him and the weight of the duffle bag over his shoulder.

“We even picked a spot close by so our suits won’t ignite during the trip. Ready?” He grinned at Len so prettily, all teeth and dimples. 

Len held Barry’s neck with his left hand, letting it drag down just enough to catch the light on his new ring. “I really do love it, Barry. It’s perfect.”

“Good. And I love you…Mr. Allen.”

Len laughed, just before the whirlwind took them, and Barry zipped them off the roof of the building with his lightning sparking in their wake. No, Len didn’t mind the sound of that one bit. 

THE END (for real this time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...see ya next ficcie!


	33. The Bachelor Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leading up to the wedding of the century, Len and Barry's bachelor party is truly an event to remember. Especially when Flash-proof liquor is introduced, and the only strippers end up being the grooms to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are not reading Tumbling Together, what is wrong with you, first of all, go do that right now. If you are, and you have read about a certain brunette's amazing bachelorette party, you'll understand why after it was posted I had to contact RedHead and laugh at how much awesome minds think alike, because I was already working on this way back then. It just took longer than expected to get almost 13k words done, and I didn't even get to the wedding! That'll be its own chapter. So thank you to RedHead for the extra inspiration (and dear god go read that, seriously, I think about it whenever I need to cheer myself up) and a HUGE thank you to LiselleVelvet for much headcanoning and ideas for this insane romp with far too many characters and shenanigans. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Barry could admit that in the beginning he was excited to plan his wedding. Not because he’d spent too many days as a young boy imagining his wedding day—though there may have been a few passing daydreams—but because he was marrying the love of his life, who’d somehow managed to sneak up on him like a thief in the night. 

He grinned to himself at the thought. Then groaned when he remembered where he was and who he was with. 

Lisa and Iris as his and Len’s maids of honor were driving him crazy. A passerby would think this was their wedding they were planning. How Len had managed to skip out on cake testing, Barry had no idea, some nonsense with Saints and Sinners that Len as owner had to be there for—a long overdue health inspection most likely—and Barry was stuck with their sisters all afternoon until Len managed to get away. 

At least Cisco and Mick as their best men could have cared less about the details, as long as they knew what to get for their tuxes and where to go for the bachelor party. 

“Barry you have to make a decision,” Iris said, shoving another piece of cake toward him at the shop Len had personally chosen to do their catering. Apparently, it was the best in town. Barry trusted Len’s opinion on that, but he had no idea how to choose between four options for red velvet cake. 

“I still can’t believe you’re having a red velvet wedding cake. Who does that?” Lisa said, not with distaste, more like wonderment, amazed at the selection and a little curious. 

“There’s a Steel Magnolias joke in there somewhere…” Iris snorted. 

“It’s my favorite,” Barry said, though after all of the red velvet he’d tried today, it might not be his favorite for long. “And Len likes the idea too. Coz it’s red.” He let his grin turn a little crooked, before instantly losing it as he downed the most recent piece of cake sample in a single bite. It was heavenly, he could admit it, but he still wasn’t sure he tasted a difference between that and the other three samples. 

“I like the first one,” Lisa said, “it has the most vibrant color.”

“But the second is the most chocolatey,” Iris commented. 

“True.”

The pair had become true girlfriends between Team ColdFlash business and wedding planning. Not that Barry minded—normally. 

“But with buttercream or cream cheese frosting?” Lisa asked, as they both turned to Barry. 

Barry shrugged helplessly. ”Uh…”

“Cream cheese. Always cream cheese with red velvet,” Len’s voice floated over to Barry like the most beautiful melody he’d heard in weeks. 

He spun in his chair to see his…fiancé…striding across the cake shop to join them. Len always looked so good, so stylish, donning a high collared jacket today to finish off his ensemble in shades of navy and black. Barry’s grin just about split his face as Len reached them and leaned down to kiss his temple. 

“Not the first one,” Len said pointing to the one Lisa had been vying for, without so much as a greeting to the girls. “Too red means too much food coloring. The better taste comes in the darker cakes.” He snagged a sample of the last one Barry had tried, which looked more burgundy for the cake part, and had cream cheese frosting instead of buttercream. “Perfect. Good for you, Scarlet?”

Barry could have kissed him—he really, really wanted to lick the frosting from the corner of Len’s mouth actually, before Len’s tongue darted out to do it himself. “Yes,” he said, looking right at Len in gratitude, then turned to the woman who had been patiently waiting on their decision from across the counter. “Number four, please.”

There were times when Len was just as exasperated with Lisa and Iris’s planning as Barry was, but in a pinch, Len had the knowhow for this sort of things much more than Barry did. And while Barry was fairly easygoing about most of the decisions, Len was dead set on several items. 

Their colors would be navy and burgundy, Len had decided on that early on. And there would be no church or clergyman. 

Len’s father had been a church going man in his earlier days, when Len and Lisa were small. That in no way endeared Len to the idea of organized religion. Barry though had fond memories of growing up going to church. It was tradition with his parents. And while Joe had never told Barry he had to go with him and Iris, Barry had picked up the tradition with them as well. It wasn’t something they kept up with anymore, Barry’s thoughts on religion were…complicated at best, something he and Len had talked about at length and seemed to agree on what they believed, but there was one thing Barry insisted they have as part of their wedding. 

“Just one reading from the Bible. It’s from the book that might as well be a romance novel, okay, hardly religious other than its source material, and it just…feels fitting. Please?”

“Let me see it first,” Len had said, but once he read it, he agreed completely. 

“What about flowers?” Iris asked as they left the cake shop. “You still have to decide.”

“It’s an outside wedding,” Barry lamented, “and neither of us is carrying a bouquet.”

“So are you both wearing garters?” Lisa smirked. “Please say yes.”

Barry gaped at her. “For real?”

“You need something to toss at the reception,” Iris shrugged, sly smile indicating she was mostly joking along with Lisa.

“Flowers will be red roses for Iris, and blue hibiscus for Lisa,” Len said succinctly. “We can throw those if you insist. No need to waste money on anything more than what the two of you will be carrying.”

“We at least need boutonnieres for the men,” Iris argued. “The groomsmen and ushers.”

“Fine, color coded to their vests. Otherwise, Joe and Henry can both have roses, Martin the hibiscus.”

“I love it when you’re decisive,” Barry said, linking his arm with Len’s and clinging for fear that at any moment Iris and Lisa would tear them apart for more of this madness. At least if he was attached to Len, his fiancé would have to come along. 

Lisa and Mick, despite also being in the wedding party, were the only ones qualified to ‘give Len away’ while Barry had both his fathers for the occasion. Martin Stein would be performing the ceremony. He had seemed quite touched when Len asked him. 

“But seriously, guys, other than the food tasting tonight, what other decisions are left? We already know everyone involved in the wedding, everyone invited, music, finally chose the cake design and type—shoot!” Barry stopped suddenly along the sidewalk as he realized, “What about cake toppers? Were we supposed to choose that too?”

“Oh, that’s already taken care of, hun,” Lisa said with her usual devious grin. 

“That decision we made without you,” Iris replied just as cunningly. 

Barry glared at them both, while Len just looked between them all in amusement. “I swear, if it’s some cheesy topper with one of the grooms holding the other one like a bride, I better be the one doing the carrying.”

“Oh really?” Len raised an eyebrow at him.

Barry turned away from Iris and Lisa to lean in close to his fiancé. “Well it would be more true to life. I think I’ve lost count of how many thresholds I’ve carried you across, Snart.”

Len leaned in closer to Barry to counter, nearly brushing the tips of their noses together. “Better get used to doing away with that name, Scarlet. Going to be Allen soon.” He bridged the gap between them and lightly kissed Barry lips. 

Barry kissed him back, just as chastely, but held it a little longer. “I won’t forget. That’s my favorite part of all this.”

“Mine too.”

“You know, lover boys, there is one thing we still need to finalize,” Lisa’s voice broke them from their private moment. 

Barry peered around Len at her and Iris, both smirking at them after their blatant PDA on the sidewalks of Central City. It wasn’t as if that many people were out and about. “What?” Barry asked suspiciously. 

The girls shared a smirk, before Iris said, “The bachelor party.”

“I thought we agreed,” Len frowned at them. “Joint party, both men and women allowed, simple affair at Saints and Sinners.” 

“And that’s still the plan,” Lisa said, “For later. But we had an idea for during the day if we wanted to start the party a bit…earlier.”

XXXXX

“Barry’s dead again!” Hartley called out loudly over the paintball course. “Off to the side, groom to be! How many times has your sister gotten you by now?”

“She’s not my sister!” Barry called back—though it was the first time in a long time he was actually upset that someone referred to him and Iris that way. 

He ducked behind the safezone to wait for the next round, where Eddie, Oliver, and Ronnie were already out ahead of him. At least this time Barry hadn’t been the first to get shot. 

“Why did we let Iris be on the Rogues team again?” Barry rubbed his sore arm where the blue paint pellet had struck him like a rubber bullet. Just because he wouldn’t bruise for as long as the others, didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him just as much to get hit. 

“We had an uneven number for heroes versus villains,” Eddie shrugged, covered in colorful blue himself, and a small smear of red from when Felicity’s first shot had gone rogue. Once she’d gotten a better look of the course and had the chance to math some things out in her head, she’d improved by leaps and bounds and was one of the last ones out for each of the rounds so far. Barry was glad she was on their side. But Iris was a beast for Team Rogues. 

Still, somehow Team Flash was leading 4-3. 

“Sara and Thea are enjoying being on the Rogues side a little too much as well,” Oliver said. “Might not have been our smartest move introducing everyone to each other.”

“I thought it encouraged both sides to play nice in the field?” Ronnie said with a smile. 

“That was the idea,” Barry peered through a crack in the safezone wall to see Iris take out Caitlin and Laurel in rapid succession. “At this rate Len’s going to recruit Iris into the real Rogues and we’ll have another supervillain on our hands.”

Eddie had a proud smile on his face when Barry turned back to his friends. 

“Hey, we said no powers, Piper!” Cisco’s voice rang out over the course. “Lose the gloves!”

Barry peered through the crack again. Hartley had been mostly hanging out in the crow’s next sniping people and calling out locations to his team, while calling out anyone shot who didn’t immediately leave the field. Barry hadn’t seen what Hartley had done, but assumed it had something to do with the way Diggle was off to the side shaking his head like he’d been struck by a sonic blast. Barry intimately knew how that felt. 

“Mark gets to use his powers!” Hartley’s called back. 

“He’s keeping the rain away, dumbass!” shouted Mick from the other safezone with Shawna and Lisa. 

“No cheating, Hart. Give up your position,” Len said, just before he appeared gunning side by side with Sara Lance for Diggle. They waved him away for a free pass since Hartley had compromised him, then moved in on Cisco and Felicity. 

Barry marveled at the way Len moved, holding a paintball gun much the same way he held his cold gun, and using it just as efficiently. He also worked in a team remarkably well, always playing to his partners’ strength and having a true knack of gaining tactical advantage over his opponents. He also looked sexy in the blue paintball gear Cisco had made for them to counter Barry’s team’s red. The pants hugged Len’s ass enough that even with a full mask over his face, Barry could recognize his fiancé from all the way across the course just from his swagger. 

“I take it the reason you keep getting shot early on, Barry, is you’re prone to distraction?” Laurel teased him as she and Caitlin joined the group in the safezone. 

Barry didn’t even bother turning away from his view of the field. “If I claim distraction for every time he ever beat me in a fight, does that earn me points or lose them?”

A chorus of “Lose” rose up from behind Barry, though he distinctly heard one “Earn” that he knew came from Eddie. Eddie understood. Iris had been the one to shoot him almost every single around, after all. 

“I accept and totally don’t care,” Barry said as he continued to watch Len.

Diggle had recovered and reentered play, his training making him a force on the battlefield as he took out Thea from behind, then Hartley as he was climbing out of the crow’s nest grumbling. Mark appeared having been about to take Hartley’s place as overwatch, and as he and Diggle met eyes, they managed to shoot each other at the same time. 

“You’re out, John!” Felicity called from…somewhere. Barry was certain he’d known where Felicity and Cisco were a moment ago. 

“You too, Weather Wizard!” added Cisco’s equally disembodied voice. 

Mark growled, but he and Diggle shared respectful nods before parting to head to the safezones, Mark grabbing up Hartley and dragging him after him as he went. 

Len had snuck around one of the main obstacles, out in the open again, looking around as if just as confused as Barry was about where Felicity and Cisco could be hiding. Sara was no longer with him. Barry couldn’t see Iris anymore either. 

Then, otherwise having seemed to have keen awareness of his surroundings at all times, Len fell into Cisco and Felicity’s trap. He turned a corner, unable to protect his blind spot, and BAM, Cisco appeared out of hiding from around an obstacle at the same time Felicity dropped down from the upper platform. They opened fire, catching Len in the chest and back in perfect unison. 

Len raised his gun and hands in surrender. 

“Ha!” Cisco called happily. “That’s right, we are too cool for Cold,” he said as he walked up to Felicity and high-fived. 

Everyone had protective masks on, but Barry would swear he could see Len smirk from where he stood, watching, as the now ‘dead’ man’s hands dropped. “You got me, white hats. But you forget I’m playing both sides these days.”

“Meaning…?” Felicity said, already checking their surroundings, turning to be back to back with Cisco as they scanned for the remaining Rogues. 

Len shrugged. “Sometimes the hero has to sacrifice himself for the greater good.”

Iris and Sara appeared as if from nowhere, boxing Felicity and Cisco in, and got off clean headshots before the other pair could even fully aim their weapons. This round went to the Rogues. 

They were tied 4-4. 

“One more for the tie-breaker?” Thea suggested, lifting up her mask to catch a breath of fresh air as the groups met in the center of the field. 

“Then I’m ready for a drink,” said Mick. 

“And a backrub,” said Hartley, glancing around for any takers. 

Cisco rolled his eyes when the meta’s gaze finally landed on him. 

“Should we add a wager?” asked Shawna, wiping streaks of red from her mask before putting it back in place. “What does the winning team get? Or what does the losing team have to do?”

Barry had taken a long weekend off from work so they could have the bachelor party today, rest and recuperate tomorrow, then the wedding was Saturday. By Sunday Barry and Len would be official in the eyes of the government—well, sort of, it was complicated, but Felicity had her ways—and whatever deities might be watching. 

Wow. 

“What’s our stance on strippers?” Mick asked with a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“No strippers, Mick,” Len deadpanned. “We discussed this.”

“Nah, nah, here me out,” Mick pushed on in the wake of amused expressions and snickers. “This is all for you two. So I say, whichever team loses this next round…the leader of the losers is the stripper.”

Barry was already shaking his head before Len could say, “No way,” but both were drowned out by the instant ooos and ahhhs from their crews. 

Hartley jumped up and down, “Yes, please, THAT. I don’t even care which one is the loser.”

“No,” Barry looked right at Hartley, then at Iris, Lisa, and Felicity—and Caitlin, really?—who were sharing particularly conspiratorial smirks. “No! Are you crazy? We all know it’s going to be me, okay, and there is no way. I would have to be drunk to even consider it, and I don’t get that luxury with the rest of you tonight, remember?”

“Actually…” Caitlin said, glancing over at Cisco who shrugged. “We were saving it as a surprise, Barry, but Cisco and I think we may have finally gotten a working formula that should keep you drunk for an extended period of time. We were going to give it to you as a bachelor party gift tonight anyway.”

“Really?” Barry’s eyes lit up at the prospect. He had never been the get trashed every night in college type, but there had been times, several fond memories of drunken escapades, and well, his own bachelor party seemed like a must. It had bummed him a little to know he couldn’t even manage a slight buzz. 

“Sweet, the bet is on!” Hartley clapped his hands together. 

“What? No!” Barry looked around at the others in a panic. “That’s not what I meant!”

“No one’s agreed to—” Len tried again, a slight tension in his neck, though Barry hadn’t been oblivious to how Len eyed him with fondness when the topic had been focused on Barry being the stripper. 

“Just have to make sure you don’t lose then,” Mick grinned, smacking Len on the back to cut him off before he could finish his protest. 

“We’re so seeing you out of all your layers tonight, Captain Cold,” Felicity waggled a finger toward Len. Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged like, seriously, can you blame me? Which Barry understood, but—no, wait, why was everyone already heading back to their starting positions?

“Neither of us is stripping tonight!” Barry called over the dispersing groups. Laurel tugged on his arm to pull him back toward their side. “You’re all awful, awful traitors.”

“Better up your game then, Allen,” Diggle said, setting his mask in place, before he nudged Oliver. “And remind me to leave the party before we get to drunken stripping of one of the grooms.”

Oliver snorted. 

Only Eddie seemed to feel any pity toward Barry and offered an apologetic shrug. 

Barry turned back to see the ladies of Team Rogues, which was over half their number, talking hushed and giggling before looking back at him. He was so screwed. Len, at least, looked equally put out before Mick dragged him behind Team Rogues’ walls. 

They took five minutes to plan their strategy, Cisco and Felicity doing most of the talking as they called out who would start where. Barry was still gaping as the round was about to start that Eddie was the one who came up with a plan for how he could distract Len in the beginning and maybe get the upper hand. Not that it mattered if Len or Barry got taken out directly, just which team was the victor in the end. 

Eddie’s idea was pretty slick though. And wasn’t technically cheating. 

Barry held back as the others burst onto the field, watching and waiting for a moment when Len would be alone. After only a couple minutes, with Diggle and Lisa being the first casualties, Barry spotted Len moving to the upper platform to hide himself behind one of the walls. 

Barry took a breath, bounced on the balls of his feet, then flashed off across the field to Len’s location before he’d even finished exhaling. 

Len was crouched, too unprepared to bring his gun up before Barry was upon him, not that Barry had any intention of shooting Len right then. He held up his hands to show that he’d left his gun hanging from its strap around his shoulder, and lifted up his facemask. 

“It just dawned on me amidst all that teasing that after this, I’m probably not gonna get a moment alone with you until our wedding night. Care to remedy that?” Barry crouched down and slowly reached forward to lift up Len’s mask as well. Len’s eyes held familiar suspicion even as he let Barry crowd in close and lean in for a kiss.

Not cheating, since Barry wasn’t using his powers to shoot anyone, but for a few minutes, Len would still be out of play. 

Barry let his tongue delve in between Len’s lips. His mouth felt warmer than Barry was used to, a bit of sweat making his lips taste salty sweet. Len didn’t bother dropping his gun to reach for Barry, but Barry gripped the back of Len’s neck and held him in place.

When they parted, Len hummed and smirked at Barry for a moment in the cramped space, just the two of them with the sound of chaos between their friends below and all around them. 

Then Len’s expression hardened. “You have five seconds. Better run.”

“Wha—”

“Five…” Len began to count. 

“Wait!” Barry held up his hands. 

“Four…”

“I just wanted a kiss!”

“Three…”

“Hang on,” Barry scrambled to his feet, not sure if he should flash out of there and risk the others seeing his lightning trail when he’d already risked that once already. 

“Two…”

“It was Eddie’s idea!” Barry shouted and took off at flash speed. 

“Powers are in play!” Len’s voice echoed after him. 

Barry gasped as he skidded to a halt back on his team’s side and heard a chorus of cheers rise up from the Rogues. 

“You heard the man,” Mark said with that sinister lilt of his. 

“Wait, no!” Barry shouted over the wall. “That’s not fair! That’s one against three with Stein not here for Ronnie! Come on!”

“Too late, cutie,” Shawna said from suddenly right in front of him. He had seconds to flash away, just narrowly avoiding the shot she aimed at him. 

He zipped past the safezone seeing only Diggle still, then flashed by the Rogues side to see that Iris had joined Lisa, gunned down by Cisco and Felicity as revenge for last round’s final ambush. 

Barry watched in barely contained horror as Mark shot out a jolt of lightning toward Oliver that thankfully went purposely wide and hit the ground in front of him, making Oliver falter long enough for Thea to take him out. 

“Guys, this is dangerous! No powers!” Barry tried again. He slowed, spun, and shot Mark just as he was lifting up to fly after his next victim. Mark glared at him, but settled back to the ground and raised his hands to show he’d at least still head to the safezone without protest. 

“Careful, Barry!” Eddie shouted before shouldering into him and then firing to hit Shawna just as she bamfed into view again. 

“Shoot,” Shawna said, “but I still got the doc out first.” She disappeared just as quickly, presumably to the safezone. 

Caitlin was out too? Barry was losing track, but at least now they were back to one against one for meta humans on each team. How much could Hartley do during a paintball skirmish anyway?

Felicity and Cisco ran into view motioning for Barry and Eddie to take off too as they let their guns hang freely at their sides and held onto their ears. Hartley appeared behind them, chasing them with little jolts of sonic ripples through the air that looked more annoying than threatening but were still an advantage in a fight. 

Drawing up his paintball gun, Hartley got Cisco in the back, then nicked Felicity in the arm before Barry came to his senses and whisked both Eddie and Felicity out of there. Cisco was down, unfortunately, but an arm shot didn’t count as a kill. 

“We’re out!” Laurel’s voice called over the course. 

“Watch out for Snart!” yelled Ronnie. 

Shit, that meant Barry, Eddie, and Felicity were the only ones left. 

“Okay, they want to play dirty, we’ll play dirty,” Felicity said, rubbing her recently shot arm. “Barry, do a quick zip around to find their locations.”

“Couldn’t he just take the rest of them out at Flash speed while he’s at it?” Eddie asked. 

“What would the fun be in that? Barry, go,” she ordered him in full on Team Arrow mode. 

Barry nodded. In seconds he knew where everyone was, and had been sorely tempted to shoot Len as he passed him. He shouted to Felicity as Sara and Thea came up behind her. 

“Now!”

Felicity took them both out just as they breached the corner. 

“Eddie, Mick’s coming around from that way. Hartley moved to the upper floor above him. Len’s mine.” He nodded to the pair before taking off for the last place he’d seen Len. He slowed, wanting to take the shot at normal speed, so Len saw it coming, saw that Barry was capable of winning this fight no powers involved. 

But Len wasn’t there. Barry considered doing another super-speed pass of the field, but too many flickers of his lightning trail would give him away, and Len had become an expert at knowing where to aim to knock him out of a run. 

Barry peered through the obstacles to see Felicity and Eddie shoot Hartley out of the second level. Only he seemed to stutter back as if he’d legitimately fall to the ground, only to settle and remain upright like he was floating. Felicity and Eddie both stared in awe, no doubt wondering if they were wrong about which part of the course Hartley was on, and maybe he had more leeway before falling off the platform, when suddenly—

Barry ducked and took aim as he saw Hartley seemingly coming around the corner in mid-air to get to Felicity and Eddie, only it was actually Mick with Hartley on his shoulders! Mick took out the pair before they could collect themselves at the sight of how they had been tricked. 

Barry took the opportunity to shoot Mick square in the center of his chest. The large Rogue looked down with a scowl then bodily lifted Hartley from his shoulders to set him back on the ground. Hartley looked a little dazed and impressed as they headed for the safezone, and Felicity and Eddie did the same the other way. 

Which meant Len was the only opponent still in play. Crap. 

Barry turned, already feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up, as if Len might be right behind him. He wasn’t, but Barry could still feel him. Somewhere. Somewhere close. 

“Get him, Barry!” Cisco called. 

“We’re gettin’ that striptease tonight, Flash!” called Mick, and since when was he on Hartley’s side with this sort of thing?

Barry moved glacially slow toward the closest bend in the course, but stopped cold as he saw the end of a gun peek out into the open. He dropped to his knees, waited for Len to take the risk of peering out around the corner, and as soon as he did, Barry burst up onto his feet, colliding their guns and knocking Len off balance. 

Only because their guns were connected with straps around their midsections did they not drop to the ground, but the force sent both of their guns swinging around their chest. Barry fumbled to get a good grip on his again, but Len recovered his balance first, ramming Barry into the wall of the course. 

Barry gasped. He had a loose hold on his gun; Len didn’t yet. Barry just needed to get it up and aimed.

“All because you thought it would be cute to steal a kiss, huh? That’s low, Barry.”

“In the end still down to you and me, so I’d say we’re even.”

“Not yet…” Len said in a husky whisper, lifting his facemask with one hand, while the other held Barry in place against the wall. He reached to lift up Barry’s mask next, mirroring how this whole ordeal had started. 

Barry’s stomach flipped, the way Len leaned in close, one leg insinuated between his, hand gripping the front of his chest gear, going for the kill with all the predatory allure Barry always felt from Len, that thrilled him and made him ache for more. 

He knew it was a ploy. Knew Len was plotting something, but damn it, he could enjoy a kiss, right? 

Somewhere in the distance, Team Rogues were cheering, while Team Flash yelled at him to not fall for such an obvious trick. What they probably couldn’t see, for those who even COULD see them, was that the grip Barry had on his gun was easy to shift so that he had his finger on the trigger—ready, waiting. All he needed was the chance to lift the gun up. 

What even he couldn’t see, however, was that while Len licked between his lips and sucked on his tongue—lewdly, slowly—he too was shifting his gun, getting ready so that the moment he pulled from Barry’s embrace—

Barry pushed just as Len leapt back, both of them lifting their guns at the same time and—

Fired. 

“We have to do another round,” Thea demanded when the others rushed them. “We can’t end on a tie!”

“What tie? Lenny totally wins by default for stealing that kiss,” Lisa said. 

“I think Barry’s gun went off first technically.” Caitlin shrugged. 

“And I think it’s time we retired for dinner and drinks,” Len called over the others. “A tie means no one’s giving a striptease tonight.”

Hartley and several others audibly groaned. 

Eddie shrugged. “Or you know…you both have to do it.”

Barry gaped at him, especially since all of the girls and several of the guys—seriously, Mick, what the hell?—jumped at this suggestion. So much for pity. “For real, Eddie? I so hate you right now.” 

“He is secretly quite devious,” Iris grinned, hooking her arm with Eddie’s, who beamed. 

And here Barry had thought he had to worry about the supervillains. 

XXXXX

“To Len and Barry!” Oliver raised his glass first amidst the throng of heroes, anti-heroes, and semi-reformed villains. 

A chorus of, “To Len and Barry,” resounded throughout the room, followed by clinking glasses and a round of cheers. 

Len had never had so many people in one place there to support him, to celebrate with him as friends and family, far more than just his sister and the man he was about to marry. It was…humbling, to say the least, that such a thing was even possible, and he knew it was only possible because of the man sitting at the table next to him. 

Saints and Sinner had been cleared out for the night for their private party, just the group from paintball, which was sizeable on its own, many of whom were regular bartenders and thus knew how to mix good drinks and which beers were on tap. Len made everyone keep close tabs on what was used, even if he was picking up the final bill. He needed to know what to replace later, after all, as they would likely go through a few bottles and kegs of various contents by the end of the night. 

They’d had food catered in rather than worry about anyone manning the kitchen. Everyone was spread out amidst tables covered in food and drinks, finishing up their dinner while chatting amiably and nursing their paintball bruises. 

Felicity and Hartley were in competition for largest most badass wounds, but complained it was only because they had the palest complexions and therefore their bruises showed up brighter. Of course, once people started saying one had it worse than the other, each insisted, “No, trust me, it’s me.”

“All right, losers, let’s get this party started!” Lisa called over the din as she, Iris, Mick, and Felicity delivered trays of shots to the various tables. “Dinner’s over. Round of shots and then we’re splitting into teams for the real festivities.” 

“Hey,” Cisco complained to Felicity, “who’s best man here? Why are you shot pushing with the bridal party?”

Felicity shrugged as she passed him a shot from her tray. “Better up your game then, Ramon.”

Cisco scowled the way only a true friend could when another was throwing shade. “I remember vividly that you cannot hold your liquor, Smoak.”

“True. But we’re playing pool, darts, and beer pong, all things I get better at when drunk.” Felicity gave an unabashed ‘woo’, tapped her shot glass on the nearest table, and downed it. 

“Felicity’s on my team!” Barry called out from beside Len. 

Len chuckled at the antics of those around them, and downed his own first shot of the night. It would help dull some of the soreness around his shoulders. He was lucky he didn’t have any bruises up along his neck where they would show above his suit come the big day. Barry of course, was already bruise-free, though Len wouldn’t mind double checking on that later tonight. 

“I claim the genius brothers!” Thea called out, grabbing up Cisco and Hartley, both of whom looked startled, and eyed each other skeptically. 

“Who are you calling brothers?” Hartley shot back. “He wishes his IQ was as high as mine.”

“Twenty bucks says you pass out before I do, Rathaway,” Cisco glared.

“I’ll take that action,” said Mick. “And I claim West.”

“Deal,” Iris bounded over to Mick all too happily. “Oliver, you be on our team.”

Mick and Oliver sized each other up companionably enough and didn’t seem to deem each other worthy of protesting over.

Lisa snagged “Officer Pretty Boy” to Eddie’s immediate frown at the nickname, before eying Diggle with a quick, “And how about you, handsome?”

Laurel and Ronnie ushered Mark over to join them, to which he seemed mildly amused. 

Shawna, Sara, and Caitlin formed a rather intimidating all female team, leaving Len to suddenly realize…

“You’re all ours, Snart,” Felicity grinned, dragging Len out of his chair to join her and Barry.

“Hey, wait, how did that happen?” Cisco pouted. “The grooms can’t be on the same team!”

“Didn’t see anyone make that rule,” Len countered, preferring the chance to keep his hands ever within groping distance of his fetching fiancé. It wasn’t exactly a traditional bachelor party, after all. 

“Just remember, tomorrow night, you two are sleeping alone,” Iris wagged a finger at them. 

“All the more reason to be naughty tonight,” Len said, and reached around Felicity to pinch Barry’s ass. 

“Hey!” Barry jumped, but he was smiling so wide, the sun would have been jealous. 

They’d agreed that the night before the wedding, they should sleep separately, one last night apart before they made things official and were never apart again. It would be the first time in months they’d spent a night without the other, Barry back at home in Iris’s old room, since his room had been turned into an office when Joe decided not to replace the broken bed, and Len staying with Lisa. She’d insisted, even though he’d initially planned to sleep at home in his and Barry’s apartment alone. 

“That’s not the same, Lenny,” Lisa had chastised him. “One last night staying with your baby sister is better anyway, and that way you’ll have both been away before coming home to walk across the threshold together as man and…boy toy.” She’d winked for good measure. 

Len hadn’t been able to keep himself from laughing, and agreed to her terms. 

But tonight, later when everyone was too drunk to leave, which Len assumed would be nearly everyone, they’d be crashing upstairs. He’d long since turned the upper floors of the building into living quarters. Office, kitchen, living room, several bedrooms. A sort of unofficial safe house for anyone who needed to stay over. 

“One thing first, Barry,” Caitlin said, coming up with Cisco to present Barry with a flask. 

“This it?” Barry asked excitedly as he accepted it, already unscrewing the cap to take a whiff of the contents. He reared back as though it smelled like paint thinner, which is about what Len expected, given what Barry would need to actually get buzzed, let alone drunk. “You really think this’ll work?”

“Dude, we have spent the better part of the last month perfecting this recipe just for tonight.” Cisco rested his hand on Barry’s shoulder. “It better work.”

“Take it slow,” Caitlin said. “More is not better. Sips only. And when you feel it, space your sips out to maintain the buzz, and don’t drink too fast or you might…” Her face scrunched as she struggled for how to finish that sentence.

“Pass out?”

“Suffer alcohol poisoning,” she shrugged, as if that wasn’t a huge red flag. “It’ll be fine.”

“You trust him to remember to go slowly after he’s drunk?” Len deadpanned. 

Caitlin and Cisco shared a look as if they weren’t in the least bit worried. “Put some in a beer or regular shots,” Caitlin said, “and it’ll almost be the same as everyone else. We’ll keep a close eye on him.”

Len wasn’t so sure. He could tell that Barry was mildly concerned too, while also eyeing the flask with an unmistakable expression of eagerness. Kid hadn’t been drunk in about two years, and this was a celebration. 

“Bottoms up, Scarlet.” Len gave Barry a nod and reassuring smile.

“Please tell me you meant that as a pun,” Hartley interjected as he came over dragging a whiteboard on wheels that Len was pretty sure had been buried in a corner of the storage room not long ago. 

Barry promptly choked on his first sip in lieu of Hartley’s innuendo.

Len could already feel his first beer and that recent shot warming his belly. Lisa, Iris, Mick, and Felicity had gathered up the shot glasses and were filling orders for everyone at the bar to have regular drinks to sip on during the games. Len figured he’d switch things up to whiskey and soda, then switch back to beer if he got too tipsy. 

Meanwhile, Hartley started writing out the teams into brackets for each of the three competitions they had planned. “Everyone plays each game. Winners of each round play each other—”

“Six teams doesn’t work with brackets, Piper,” Cisco broke in. “We’ll have three teams set to play each other for the finals.”

“I’m aware,” Hartley shot back without ceasing his frantic writing. “Points matter. Third place winning team gets dropped out of the final round, based on score in darts, how many cups they beat the other team by in beer pong, and how many balls left in pool.”

Felicity giggled, presumably at the mention of ‘balls’, but didn’t otherwise comment. 

“You lot take competition seriously,” Diggle said. 

“Why yes we do,” Mark grinned coyly. “Good thing powers can’t help anyone with these types of games, right, darlin’?” He eyed Shawna over at her group. 

She smirked, popped out of view to reappear beside Mark, and leaned slowly forward to kiss his cheek, something that didn’t even make him flinch—her appearances never did anymore—then popped back to where she’d been. “You better watch your back, _darlin’_ ,” she said, “because Team FemmeFatales is taking you down.”

Hartley wrote FemmeFatales as their team name on the whiteboard, along with names he and Cisco came up with rapid fire for all of the others, leaving only their own that Thea dubbed, ‘SpeedyScience’, which Cisco and Hartley sneered at but accepted. 

“Okay, Team GroomWatch, you’re on beer pong first against Team DeathGlare,” Hartley said, meaning Oliver, Mick, and Iris, which…yeah, Len couldn’t really argue with that one. 

Barry eyed his flask suspiciously as he, Len, and Felicity headed for the table they’d setup for beer pong. 

“Working already?” Len asked. 

“I don’t know…” Barry said slowly, eyes squinting for a moment in thought. He shrugged, took another sip. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Lisa played waitress with Mick, delivering drinks to everyone as they settled into their games for round one. Len got his whiskey and soda, and Felicity and Barry each had a beer. Barry tipped some of the contents of his flask to add to his drink as Caitlin had suggested. 

“Safer than drinking it straight, right?”

The game started easily enough, each team member rotating their turns to throw. Mick missed most of his shots, grumbling that he was better at the drinking part of the game, but Oliver had natural precision on his side, and Iris had been a beer pong champ in college. Len went toe to toe with each of Oliver’s throws though, and Barry kept up with Iris about half the time. Felicity bounced as much as Mick. 

“Better when you’re drunk, huh?” Barry chuckled. “Drink faster then.”

Felicity stuck her tongue out at him, but amazingly enough, sunk her next toss, forcing Mick to knock back a pull on his beer. They threw the ping pong balls into cups filled with water, and took losing drinks from their own beverages rather than downing the contents of the cups. Those balls were not clean, especially if they went bouncing off into a corner.

About two-thirds of the way through the game, on equal footing against Team DeathGlare, Barry blinked as if having trouble focusing. 

“Scarlet?”

“Wow…” Barry blinked again, hand wavering in front of him as he readied a toss. “I think it’s working.” 

He botched the throw, ricocheting widely off the rim of one of the cups toward the pool game, where it hit Eddie in the shin. He tossed it back at them, but Barry fumbled and failed to catch it after several attempts, giggling when Len had to reach out and snatch the ball from the air on the next bounce. 

“You’re good,” Barry stared at Len’s closed fist in open amazement. 

“Felicity, drink faster,” Len said, since it was her turn again after Mick's next toss. “Barry…slower.” Len prevented Barry from knocking back the last of his Flash-proof spiked beer, making him sip it instead. 

Barry batted his long lashes over the rim of his glass, and darted out his tongue to lap at the contents of the drink as he took in a slow swallow.

Len needed to drink faster too. 

They lost their round of beer pong, even though Barry steadied slightly by the end, with two cups remaining. 

Len downed an Irish Flag shot somewhere between beer pong and heading to the pool table, but made sure Barry stuck to spiked beers rather than any hard liquor. Then Lisa passed Len a Black Russian—he didn’t care for cream. 

“I better not—”

“Oh, loosen up, Lenny!” she clinked his glass with her own White Russian, celebrating having just beaten Mark’s group at pool. “It’s your bachelor party.”

Len paused for only a moment before conceding. He did love Black Russians. He’d just sip it slowly, like he was trying to make sure Barry did. 

They faced SpeedyScience for their pool round. Thea was actually quite good, and fairly steady despite whatever drink she was on by now. Her group had just come off of winning darts against Shawna, Caitlin, and Sara. Hartley was mediocre. Cisco miscued his first two turns. Len grinned as he realized this one was in the bag. Felicity was a shark, it turned out. 

Then Barry sunk his first ball only to knock the 8 ball in as well. Damn. 

“We’re drinking. No automatic lose scenarios,” Thea declared, and placed the 8 ball back on the table. “But that’s your one save, Barry.”

“Wait…that would have made us lose?” Barry leaned against the cue with adorably wide-eyed bewilderment. 

Len snatched the cue from him and handed it to Hartley to be a good sport, since Barry should at least lose his turn. “Remind me to give you a proper lesson sometime, kid.”

Barry leaned into him in place of the cue, hugging Len’s arm and resting his chin on his shoulder. His eyes batted prettily at Len, pupils slightly dilated now, especially with the dim lighting, but still warm and vibrantly hazel green. “I like when you teach me lessons.”

Shit. Len leaned forward to capture those pouting lips in a kiss.

“Foul!” Cisco shouted, though whether he meant because Hartley scratched on his shot, or to tear Len and Barry apart, Len wasn’t sure. Felicity soon came up and pushed between them to make room for her next shot, sending Barry stumbling backwards with his lips still puckered for a kiss that never made contact. 

A few turns later, Hartley tried to cozy up to Cisco to adjust his stance, and Cisco shot him a glare fighting through a blush. He quickly took another shot of something that Mick walked by with after Team DeathGlare defeated Vortex in darts. 

Len made the winning shot for their game, masterfully sinking the 8 ball with three of SpeedyScience’s balls still on the table. Felicity gave a loud ‘woo!’ and Barry pumped both fists into the air in triumph. 

“Never give a superior opponent an advantage, Queen,” Len cocked his head at Thea. She just rolled her eyes and shook his hand with a firm, “Good game.” 

The comment about an advantage seemed fitting as they made their way across the bar to play darts and passed Team Vortex heading to beer pong. Laurel’s team had a decided advantage since her drink of choice was cherry Coke—not that anyone complained. 

Len’s team was facing Lisa, Eddie, and Diggle for darts. Eddie looked appropriately glassy eyed by this point, Diggle entirely clear-headed, and Lisa somewhere in between, though any amount of tipsiness she displayed was likely overdone to throw them off guard; Len knew her tricks too well. She nearly hit a bullseye on her first throw. 

“Oh wow,” Felicity slurred into a fresh Tequila Sunrise that she’d gotten from…somewhere; Len hadn’t actually seen who served it to her, “you two are both so,” she twirled the pointer finger of the hand not holding her drink in an inclusive and then downward spiral to encompass both Len and Lisa, “…all a this.”

Lisa cocked her hip and winked. Diggle rolled his eyes. Eddie started laughing—and didn’t stop until Barry joined in and they huddled together giggling like drunken teenagers. Len decided he was not drunk enough for this, and slammed back most of his second Black Russian before snatching up the darts for his turn.

They had six darts, each person throwing once per round. Most points after ten throws per person won. Len scored fifteen his first toss. Felicity three. Barry hit the wall above the twenty. 

“Oops.” He stared, mouth agape, at the new hole—admittedly amidst several others—that he'd just made in the wall, before Diggle had to push him out of the way for his turn. “Sorry, honey,” Barry smiled at Len shyly, like he thought he'd actually get in trouble. Barry only used pet names like that when he was being silly, but tonight he sounded strangely earnest. 

Len sucked an ice cube into his mouth, while staring at Barry’s hands wrapped around his glass.

Barry finished his current drink with a final gulp, which was quickly replaced as Lisa grabbed the flask out of his back jean pocket—a little too slowly for Len’s taste—and added it to a fresh reddish colored shot and a new beer before handing both back to Barry. She reached around him to shove the flask away again.

“Stop groping the goods, Lise,” Len grunted. He took a step toward them and swayed slightly. He glared at the empty glass in his hand, wondering when that had happened, but it was definitely the drink’s fault.

“Those hands feel s’rprisingly familiar,” Barry slurred, smacking his lips around the shot he'd just taken. “Smaller…” he added like an afterthought, as Lisa gave his rear a smack. Then he giggled again, watching Len the entire time as he took a sip of his new beer. 

Lisa and Eddie both seemed to spiral down further with Barry as they each downed similar looking red shots. Len asked where his was. 

“Well you do have an affinity for rrred,” Lisa purred. She called to Mick to bring them a couple more. 

Mick was on autopilot. Drunk but still flawless at making drinks. Guy was remarkable when given something to focus on. He was already making a round of shots for the FemmeFatales since they had just beaten Team DeathGlare in pool. Shawna, Caitlin, and Sara buzzed around him, giggling, and Len couldn’t help noticing that while Mick valiantly kept his focus so as not to spill any booze, he had a sideways grin on his face at the attention. 

The three women downed their own shots in victory then delivered a pair of those red ones to Len and Diggle. 

Diggle tried to refuse, “Oh I don’t—”

“You’re being sober enough, handsome,” Lisa thrust the shot into his chest. “You can have one Redheaded Slut. Huh…” She pouted as she looked around the room, Vortex cheering as they won their bout of beer pong against SpeedyScience, the others scattered about the bar. “This group is suspiciously lacking of redheads. You’d think there’d be a couple. Law of averages.” She shrugged. 

Len and Diggle clinked glasses and downed their shots, then Len asked for a water because damn…he was definitely swaying now. He nearly put a few holes into the wall himself as they finished up their remaining dart throws. It was a close game. He had no delusions though that they lost because Diggle was mostly sober, and he and Lisa were evenly matched. 

Somehow Eddie was the only one who never once missed the board. 

“Final rounds!” Hartley called. He had his arm looped around Thea’s waist—they’d clearly bonded as teammates—while Cisco helped tally up points to decide the winners. “Beer pong is Vortex vs DeathGlare!”

The ladies at the bar with Mick all whined at being knocked out of contention despite their win, but the margin of remaining cups for the other teams was against them. 

“Darts is SpeedyScience versus DeathGlare! Battle of the sharpshooters!” Hartley squeezed Thea to his side with a glance between her and Oliver. “But we’ll have to wait since they’re doing beer pong first.”

Len was not at all surprised that Mick, Oliver, and Iris’s team were in two final matches. 

“And Pool is GroomWatch versus FemmeFatates!”

Just as the ladies at the bar had complained about beer pong, they likewise cheered at being part of the pool finals. They immediately chatted to Mick about preparing them new drinks for the occasion. 

“Hey, we got one!” Barry shouted, toasting his beer up into the air, which was already half gone, and so barely sloshed over the sides at the movement. It spilled enough though that he brought it back down with a frown and started licking the beer that had splashed onto the back of his hand.

Len watched the coil of Barry’s tongue with rapt attention. He quickly downed another gulp of water. If he finished the glass, he could handle one more beer. Maybe. 

He must have said that out loud, because the next thing he knew, they were at the pool table—he didn’t fully remember walking over, but he enjoyed the press of Barry against his side—and he had a fresh beer and the water glass still in his hand. He worked on finishing the water first, then nearly dropped it to the floor as he tried to set it on a nearby table. A slight nudge with his finger got it situated. 

“You’re drunk,” Barry whispered loudly in his ear. 

Len’s cheeks felt flush, his head swimming, but the water helped quell any nausea from having drunk those Black Russians so fast. “So are you, Mr. Allen,” he grinned back, while Sara racked the balls for their game. Len’s team had won their earlier round with more of the other team’s balls on the table, so they got to break. 

Barry hung onto him tight, half his body weight leaning forward and unbalancing Len somewhat as he said, “Yer gonna be Mr. Allen soon.”

Len grinned wider. “That I am.”

It turned out that Felicity had not been lying. She was toasted—and played better than she had all night. She sunk three balls in a row on her first turn. Barry scratched twice. But then so did Caitlin. Shawna had lost control of her powers, or stopped caring about not using them, and bamfed around the table whenever she was choosing a shot, something that Sara watched with fascination, and made Caitlin jump and giggle against her hand every time. 

When all was said and done, they were evenly matched, but Sara had a final streak with the last of her team’s balls, and sank the 8 ball before Len even had a chance. While her eyes insisted she’d kept up drink for drink with the others, her stance never wavered. 

Across the room, Laurel, Ronnie, and Mark’s Vortex team did indeed win beer pong, to which Mark and Mick shook hands amicably, Laurel teased a clearly tipsy if not outright drunk Oliver, and Iris shoved Ronnie over to his wife as if completely put out that her team had lost, while quickly seeking out her own significant other. 

Eddie was between Lisa and Hartley, and had a flush to his face and somewhat scandalized expression in response to whatever they were saying to him. He eagerly intercepted Iris when he saw her approaching.

“No fraternizing yet, Miss West,” Hartley gestured a shaky hand at her, which he used to latch onto Eddie’s arm and pull him right back between him and Lisa. “Your team has darts next against…” He blinked over at the board, having entirely forgotten that the other team was—

“Us!” Cisco dashed over and clapped Hartley on the shoulder. 

“And no fraternizing on your part either,” Thea nudged both Cisco and Hartley toward the dart board, though her comment was definitely aimed at Hartley since he glanced at Oliver as part of the opposition and dragged his eyes all the way down his body.

Somehow, Len ended up in a chair near the dart board to watch with Barry in his lap—not that he minded—while Felicity mirrored them in Diggle’s lap, loudly sheering on Oliver and Thea alternatively with equal vigor. 

The background music turned up louder as several of those not participating in the final showdown started dancing—Mark and Shawna, Caitlin and Ronnie, and Sara, Lisa, and Laurel in a tight circle. Len watched the chaos with a warmth in his chest, as well as some warmth in his lap from Barry, letting the lingering buzz of his last beer wash over him. Eddie sat nearby, cheering on Iris.

The final dart was a fluke to be sure, but a masterfully dead-center bullseye from Miss West, overpowering her teammates' combined points and bringing in the win with her last throw. Everyone cheered, including the dancers, as Iris turned to glomp both Oliver and Mick in turn, then fell into Eddie’s lap and kissed him soundly. 

Barry’s giggling at the whole display was the best sound. Len hugged his fiancé’s waist tightly.

The loss had Hartley pouting and Thea rolling her eyes at her brother while also hiding a smirk. But Cisco seemed undeterred, producing a long black box from somewhere and declaring it time to play Cards Against Humanity. Len knew of the game, but had never played. He doubted he could get through too many rounds or many more drinks coherently, but somehow he ended up at a table with Barry and a handful of others to play, with another beer in hand. 

It all went by in a daze for the most part. Oliver won one round with: _You have my sword. And you have my bow. And my… **(Firm buttocks.)**_ Everyone laughed at the Arrow reference, then laughed harder when Felicity pawed at Oliver, saying, “I have proof, see!”

But everyone was in stitches when Eddie played: _Dear Sir or Madam, we regret to inform you that the Office of **(Powerful thighs)** has denied your request for **(Pulling out)**_. Iris looked particularly proud of herself when it was revealed the two-parter belonged to her man, which said more than enough. 

Felicity laughed so hard she fell off her chair. Barry nearly did as well. But while Len knew he shouldn’t find it that funny, he started laughing liberally himself…and couldn’t stop. He was in tears by the time he was able to take in deep breaths again. Alcohol was a wonder.

Thankfully, he started to feel back to buzzed more than black out drunk about the time the card _What will always get you laid?_ was played, and he was in line to judge. 

Eddie: **A sassy black woman** , which everyone guessed was his long before the cards were passed back.

Iris: **Aggressive Legolas hair flips.**

Cisco: **Darth Vader.**

Lisa: **Fingering** —Len really should not play this game with his sister present.

Oliver: **Being rich.**

Felicity: **Playing Counter-Strike too seriously.**

Diggle: **Some god-damn peace and quiet** —played like a true parent of a toddler. 

But when Len was reading through the cards, before the identity of who put what was revealed, one of the more famous of trump cards was played, and everyone was torn between trying not to look at Diggle and grinning at him.

**A bigger, blacker dick.**

Everyone except Barry, of course, who looked right at Len, and much to Len’s horror, opened his mouth—

“No!” Len leapt forward half out of his chair to cover Barry’s mouth with his hands, about the same time Lisa did the same from his other side. 

“You say one word about my brother’s dick, Flash, and I’m pouring ice down your shorts.”

The others erupted in laughter, while Len tried not to be traumatized and smirked at his partner’s adorable giggling behind his and Lisa’s combined hands. 

He still let Barry’s card win. 

The game ended when Felicity declared she wanted to dance, as several others were still doing, and jumped right up onto the table, kicking over piles of black and white cards. She reached down to hoist Barry up as well, nobody minding the interruption, least of all Cisco, since Lisa was whispering in his ear and making him blush. 

“We forgot the striptease!” Eddie announced when he saw Barry up there with Felicity, which managed to sober Len almost immediately, and caused everyone off in other corners of the room to turn toward them and join in on hollering for a show. 

“Yesssss,” Felicity said, wobbling her way down onto a chair, which prompted Oliver to dart to his feet and grab her arm to steady her. She made it to the floor without incident, leaving Barry to somewhat obliviously continue dancing on the table alone, only to haul Len to his feet and push him at Barry to take her place. 

“Ooo, Lenny, come on!” Barry called when he noticed him, reaching down to grip Len’s wrists at lightning speed and then—CRACK, Len was on the table, with Barry holding him by the hips, dancing seductively closer, the rest of the bar almost a soft haze around them that Len could have easily forgotten since he got to have his hands on the Scarlet Speedster.

“Take it off!” a feminine voice yelled to break Len of his ignorance, which he was fairly certain was—Caitlin, seriously? Several other voices soon chorused in kind.

“Who’s got some ones?” Hartley called. “I have a twenty here and I am seriously looking forward to reaching in for change.”

Laughter responded that was downright infectious, even though Len tried to find Hartley in the crowd to glower at him.

Barry waggled an eyebrow at Len to keep his attention forward—cheeks flush, eyes glazed but still focused enough to be aware of what he was doing, as he started rocking his hips more suggestively to the music—Len thought it might be that ‘Paralyzer’ song Lisa liked so much. 

Barry really had no idea what a treat he was for the eyes, how alluring he looked when he moved, especially when he danced. His normal insecurities were far away with actual working alcohol in his system, so for once he seemed to enjoy additional attention on his physical form. He started to undo his button down, sporting a T-shirt underneath.

Len was likewise in layers, tank top beneath his sweater, but he was more reserved with so many onlookers. Knowing what he did to Barry usually made it easy to undress for him, despite the conscientiousness he had about his scars. He could ignore that with Barry…but a crowd? Butterflies and old, foolish anxiety stirred within him.

“You are so sexy,” Barry raked his eyes down Len’s body, even though all Len was doing was standing there. 

The combination of Barry’s adoring gaze, hollers and cheers from their closest friends, and the alcohol still saturating Len’s veins, relaxed him enough that he told the annoying voices in his head to shut up and let him enjoy himself tonight. He gripped the hem of his sweater and slowly started inching it upwards. 

“Don’t look, it’s awful!” Cisco cried, covering Lisa’s eyes from behind. 

She shoved his hands away with a wide smile. “Nice try, honey, but I can still enjoy half the show.” She waggled an eyebrow at Barry. Len and Cisco’s matching glares did nothing to deter her. 

Barry had let his unbuttoned shirt fall from his shoulders, doing a slight chest shimmy that made Len laugh as he tried and no doubt failed miserably to be as effortlessly sensual as his partner. Fully clothed, Len was a pro at it. Naked, he knew all the ways to drive Barry wild. But a public strip tease was too carefree and foolish for him. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment and tried to channel some of Barry’s boundless energy. 

Sara catcalled him loudly and, when Len turned to look at her, she added a wink. He laughed again as some of the tension eased from his shoulders. As he tugged his sweater over his head to reveal his toned arms with only a tank top on, he swung the article around and tossed it at the young Miss Lance. 

Hartley audibly protested, “Hey!” so Barry threw him his button down. 

Shawna and Mark produced an impressive amount of $1 bills from somewhere—better not be the till, Len thought idly—which they distributed to those who didn’t have cash, and soon the table that had already been littered with Cards Against Humanity also had a collection of dollars. A few bold members of their group reached up to tuck bills into Barry and Len’s jeans. Hartley got several into both of their waistbands. Iris and Eddie seemed to enjoy sharing their dollars between them. And Len definitely felt Thea linger her hands on his ass at one point. 

Oliver stood back with Diggle, who was shaking his head at them, but everyone else gathered about the table to watch. 

“Lose the shirt, doll! Your dancin’ skills ain’t that special!” Mick shouted, and laughed rumbling and deep when Barry complied, revealing inch by inch his toned abs and then flinging his T-shirt into the crowd. Felicity snatched it out of the air. 

Len had a few scars on his arms, more on his chest and back, but as he looked around at their friends, he reminded himself that he was one among many—many companions, many scars, many hard times and good. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so strange, being bare in front of these people. 

He tore his tank top off, disrupting several dollars out of his waistband as he sling-shot it toward Caitlin, then danced his way closer to Barry, reaching for the tantalizing sway of the younger man’s hips. He didn’t mind giving the others a show, so long as the only person he ever had in his arms was the man in front of him. 

He licked his way into Barry’s mouth, and started to undo the other man’s jeans for him during the lip-lock. 

“At how many future bachelor and/or bachelorette parties can we request this as an encore?” Caitlin, with her husband wrapped around her from behind, said with scientific and thoughtful precision in an obvious attempt to sound less drunk than she was. 

Over Barry’s shoulder, Len saw Iris, Shawna, and Mick’s hands all shoot up into the air—the traitor. But Len was having too much fun to care. He felt a tug on the back of his jeans, and turned to find Felicity, one hand in his waistband, the other hanging onto Oliver’s wrist who’d she’d pulled up from the outer rim of onlookers. 

“Make room for one more!” she said with a gleam in her eye. 

Oliver shook his head when she whirled around to grab him by both shoulders. “Felicity, I am not drunk enough for that. Yet.” He said it with the hint of a smile, mischievously as if might be coerced to give a striptease later. 

Felicity pouted as she pressed her palms to his well-muscled chest. 

“Please let me in on that,” Hartley crowded his way to Oliver’s side. 

Cisco was right behind him. “We need to get you a boyfriend, Rathaway.” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Len devolved into laughter again. He tried to listen for the newest song that was playing, tried to find the beat again to keep dancing, but he stopped cold when he turned around to the sight of Barry already out of his jeans, shoes and socks kicked to who knows where, left in only a pair of very tight and very skimpy black boxer briefs. Len licked his lips at the sight. Those thin hips. Long legs. Long everything, really…

Barry teased his thumbs into the elastic, pulling the shorts lightly away from his skin in a circle around his body from front to back, shimmying them just slightly down, but never enough to actually show off the goods. It was somehow exponentially hotter that way—the tease. The thrill of what it would take to get him to keep going…

Len snapped back to his senses as he remembered that he was not the only one watching the show, and he definitely didn’t want Barry going that far. Barry wouldn’t want to either if he was sober. So Len made his way back across the table, making sure to capture Barry’s attention. 

“Come here…” He curled his pointer finger all come-hither. 

Barry bit his bottom lip and sashayed closer. Len kissed him, harder this time, deeper, lewder with an audience, which caused several more renewed cheers, and felt Barry seek out the clasp of his jeans to make them even. Len let him get the button open and zipper down, before stopping Barry’s hands with a coil of his fingers around each of the kid’s wrists. 

“All right, folks!” he called out when they broke from their kiss. “Can’t have this show getting too X-rated.”

Len was pretty sure Mark and Mick were among those who protested loudest with drawn out ‘awws’; he’d so have to get both of them back later. 

“So!” Len called louder, while Barry giggled and kept trying to recapture his lips. “If you’ll excuse us for the remainder of the evening, I have a fiancé to debauch. Diggle and Miss Lance have graciously agreed to herd you all upstairs when things get too roudy.” He dropped his voice to a whisper only for Barry. “I have a surprise for you.”

Barry snickered and turned his hands, captured as they were in Len’s hold, to palm Len lightly through his jeans. “I bet you do.”

“Barry,” Len said warningly, “get us to the roof, and I’m all yours.”

Len barely even felt the trip. One moment they were surrounded by cheers and laughter and music, the next there was silence, punctuated by the occasional sounds of the city streets below them. 

Releasing Barry’s wrists and stepping back, Len spread his arms wide to encompass what he had waiting on the roof, which Barry didn’t seem to notice at first, still trying to paw at Len and kiss him again, but then Len said, “Barry,” more firmly, and the speedster stopped. And looked. And sobered just enough in that moment that his eyes went wide and his mouth slack. 

Saints and Sinners was only two stories tall, but the rooftop still had a nice view of the surrounding city, even of STAR Labs in the distance. More than that, Len had brought up a futon and table earlier, complete with carbs and protein rich foods in a Tupperware container and several bottles of water. Barry’s favorite blanket from home, a knitted one in alternating shades of red and navy, was spread over the futon, and since Len hadn’t believed candles would still be lit by this point, he’d positioned flashlights pointing upwards, and beside them bookending the food was one of each of the flowers in the wedding—a red rose and a blue hibiscus.

There they were, drunk for the first time ever together, at least still tipsy, with Barry in his underwear, and Len shirtless with his jeans undone, ready for a midnight picnic on the roof. 

Barry’s blinding smile turned to him and—ZOOM, they were on the futon, blanket around their shoulders, as Barry cracked into the Tupperware and ate one of Len’s homemade chocolate chip cookies first, then grabbed a bottle of water, handing another to Len. 

“I love how romantic you are, Captain Cold,” Barry grinned around devouring his first cookie. 

“Don’t go spreading that around now, Scarlet. This is just between us.”

They ate. Downed a water bottle each—Barry two—and let the cool but still pleasant night keep them awake as the fading alcohol left them sleepy. When they snuggled back on the futon to look up at the stars, dulled by the city lights but still beautiful, it was easy for Len to kick off his shoes, slip out of his jeans, and soon find both his and Barry’s underwear dropped onto the floor of the roof as well. 

Barry kissed his neck, smiled adoringly at him, his hazel eyes more alert now, but not yet sober enough to regret any of his drunken decisions earlier in the night. In the moment, that moment, his whole world was Len, and Len felt the same, felt like everything was perfect for tonight, with nothing but hope and something to look forward to on the horizon. No villains. No threats. Nothing too striking of reality other than knowing that in two days’ time this man would be his forever. 

“I’m already yours forever,” Barry whispered, jolting Len to the realization that he’d said some if not all of that out loud. 

“Promise?”

Barry linked their hands together, their left hands, where white and yellow gold bands—Len’s with a snowflake cutout, Barry’s with a lightning bolt—overlapped and complemented each other. Len had insisted Barry wear his too, since both of them deserved the experience of being engaged. They’d remove them Saturday only to have each other place them back on their hands once and for all. 

“I promise,” Barry said, kissing him again, “I love you,” then trailed his free hand down Len’s stomach beneath the blanket where he gripped the firmness he found there. Len had the foresight to bring a towel up as well, folded at the edge of the table, though considering how much he’d had to drink…

“Doubtful I’ll be able to finish, Barry.”

“Oh…I think I can help with that.” Barry sounded devious and so certain. Len enjoyed the rare times that he was buzzed enough to get hard but took longer to climax, but he still had his doubts that he could finish tonight with the sheer amount of merriment they’d enjoyed. 

He shouldn’t have worried. The feel of Barry’s hand made his pulse race, quickly slick from the precum building on both of them, stroking Len, then himself, then both of them together, and then—vibrating, familiar and yet always remarkable, always enough to make Len gasp and arch into his touch. 

This man who loved him. Who wanted to spend however long they had left on this earth together. There might never come a day where Len honestly believed he deserved Barry Allen, but damn it if he wasn’t going to enjoy every minute he had him regardless. 

As Barry stroked them, Len tightened the hold of their clasped hands, brought his right hand to Barry’s face, and kissed him, licked his lips, his neck, his ear, gripped his hair and tugged it roughly back to lick his Adam’s apple as well, and eventually between his lips again. Len never wanted the taste and touch of Barry to end. 

Barry’s whole form blurred before long, and Len knew by now that the best way to ride it out was to give in, to drop his head back and let himself feel the way Barry pulsed against him—his Scarlet, his speedster, his miracle. 

When Barry came, the warmth left between them made Len’s insides heat up, made him want so badly to follow after him. But Barry’s voice was what pushed him over the edge. 

“Come on, baby…come for me…please, Lenny…you’re so hot like this, all flushed and whining. I know you want it…know you need it. Come for me…”

And Len did, hips stuttering, back arching, soft whimper leaving him. 

Barry pressed his lips to Len’s neck and chuckled against his skin. “Told ya.”

“I’ll never doubt you again, kid.” Len gripped Barry’s left hand all the tighter and reached once more with the other for Barry’s face. “I love you.”

Barry smiled, and snuggled closer into his body. Eventually they cleaned up, and before they started to doze too dangerously close to actual sleep, left out in the elements as they were, they managed to have Barry zip them back inside where they claimed one of the bedrooms for their own. 

XXXXX

Barry hummed to himself as he worked on breakfast. He’d been a little dehydrated when he woke up, despite the water he’d drank, but Len had extra water bottles waiting for him in the bedroom, and after two of those, and a bagel, he felt entirely like his normal self again. Praise be the Flash-proof liquor! So long as he didn’t think too hard on some of last night’s events.

Everyone crashed as expected, though it looked like Diggle had managed to escape, while Laurel remained to keep watch on the drunken horde. No one seemed too put out though when they started rousing to the smell of cooking food. Barry had been volunteered to make breakfast at the start of the night, since he would likely be the most sober in the morning, rechargeable speedster that he was. And he was partial host, after all. 

Len joined him in the kitchen before too many of the others were up enough to groggily request coffee. Barry’s fiancé kissed his temple, poured his own cup of coffee, then helped with the task of passing around plates and mugs. 

Cisco awoke 90% sure that a few of his hickies were not from Lisa. Comments from Hartley about blowjobs under the bar were so not taken as a challenge by anyone—honest! Someone definitely had loud sex in one of the other bedrooms once they were all upstairs, though no one was fessing up as to whom. (It was Iris and Eddie, and Iris wasn’t the loud one.) And Mark eventually confessed that it might have snowed in the bar for a good two minutes at one point after Len and Barry left, but he promised he would mop everything up before the bar opened.

All in all, Barry couldn’t have asked for a more perfect bachelor party. 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll get to find out who all does what for the wedding soon, and what they're reading from the Bible is (I had it at my wedding and just...love it). So many more shenanigans ahead. 
> 
> I couldn't resist the redheaded comment, because I think it's hilarious that all of the people who would be redheads in the comics aren't - Iris, Wally, Hartley, and Rip. Andy looks really cute as a blond, he would make a great redheaded Piper damn it!
> 
> Thank you all so much, readers who have been with this from the beginning, and new readers alike. Please let me know what you think, as your comments are what most fuels me to write more.


	34. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len and Barry finally tie the knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is too much to say, so I will simply say, thank you, all of you. Special thanks to Liselle for many headcanons. Special thanks to everyone who did any fanart or photo manips for this monstrosity, and for all of your support and faithful waiting for this story to finally come to a complete end. Enjoy!

It was the closest Len had felt to having a panic attack since Barry got shot with the Shocker bullet and almost died in his arms. His hands shook as he reached up to adjust his ice blue tie, staring in the full length mirror of what was basically his wedding trailer. They’d rented several for the occasion, one each for Len and Barry, and a couple for the wedding party, that they’d driven out to the woods where the ceremony would take place. 

The woods. Their woods. The first place Len had seen Barry’s face. When he first started to want him, which in too short a time had become so much more than mere yearning for the lithe figure of his nemesis. No other location seemed fitting or secluded enough for such an odd pair to tie the knot. 

Len scowled at the knot in the mirror. He couldn’t get it straight. His hands wouldn’t stay still. 

The rest of his all blue ensemble looked nice enough. Navy slacks, vest, and coat, the coat left open to show off the slanted button closure of the vest, silver buttons, the vest trimmed in silver too, with a royal blue shirt to offset the navy and silvery blue tie. It complimented his eyes, Lisa and Iris had both said. Barry still hadn’t seen it. They’d agreed on colors but decided to keep their outfits secret from each other to achieve something like the tradition of not seeing the ‘bride’ before the ceremony. 

Len had joked that he was the old, Barry the new, and Len also covered the blue portion. All they needed was something borrowed. So Len lent Barry his grandfather’s pocket watch, which had started his obsession with time so long ago, and was one of very few possessions he had to remember the man. It was gold, so it didn’t suit Len’s usual style, but it would complement Barry today perfectly, and make sure that he was actually on time for once. 

“Fuck,” Len growled as he pulled his tie loose again. His frustration just made his hands shake harder. 

“Calm down, Romeo,” Mick called from the entrance to the trailer, startling Len because he hadn’t heard the door open. Mick was the only one allowed to walk in without announcing himself. Even Lisa had to grant Len that much if she didn’t want to catch him half dressed. 

Len turned with an exasperated sag of his shoulders, brow knit, hands clenching into fists. “I can’t…” He tried to think of how to explain, but the right words wouldn’t come. 

Mick stalked over to him with heavy footfalls. He looked mildly out of place in a suit. It echoed Len’s but in black, with a white shirt, and a dark red vest and tie. Mick’s meaty hands reached up to fix Len’s tie for him, which Len would have been skeptical about, but Mick’s tie had a flawless knot. He let his friend manhandle him, looking grumpy and irritated to anyone else, but Len could see the faint curve of a smile on his partner’s face. 

As Mick worked on his tie, something gnawed at Len’s gut, trying to finish the sentence he’d started, and he found himself saying it again, “I can’t…”

Mick paused to look him in the eyes. 

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Another pause, the silence between them static and buzzing with tension. Then Mick scoffed as if Len hadn’t said the absolutely worst thing someone could be thinking on their wedding day. He tugged Len none too gently closer to finish doing up his tie. “Bullshit. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m twice his age, Mick.”

“No one cares.”

“I’ll never be good enough for him.”

“Nope. Good thing he don’t care ‘bout that either.”

“Mick…”

“Stuff it, Snart,” Mick said, and whirled Len bodily around to face the mirror again. The tie looked perfect. “Look at you cleaned up all pretty. You really gonna cut and run?”

Len fiddled with his hands as he took himself in, rubbing in particular the spot where the ring had been, where it would be again in less than an hour’s time, that snowflake cutout in white gold made just for him. Right now it was in Cisco’s pocket, while Barry’s lightning bolt was in Mick’s. 

“What’s the big deal, huh?” Mick said, shaking him slightly as he peered at him over his shoulder. “You love that ring. Love the kid.” 

Len looked down his body at the perfectly tailored suit, feeling not like an almost forty-five-year-old man, but like a timid teenager. “I do. But this…”

“It’s a nice suit, a few words, and a party. The rest, business as usual. And hey,” he smacked Len’s shoulder with enough force to nearly topple him forward into his reflection. “You even get a better name outta the deal.”

Len huffed a laugh. Allen. Leonard Allen. They’d done all the paperwork already. The last step was signatures from him, Barry, and their witnesses when everything was official. 

Leave it to Mick to squash his concerns so succinctly. 

“Flash is gonna make an honest man outta you, Snart—Len,” he added for emphasis. “More or less.” And when he laughed, Len couldn’t help laughing with him, and feeling like an idiot for getting—he laughed harder at the thought—cold feet. 

“Barry loves me,” Len told himself in the mirror. “And I love him.”

“You better,” Mick smacked him on the back again. “Now come on, buddy. Let’s get this party started.”

XXXXX 

“I look ridiculous. I look ridiculous. Why did I ever think I could pull off wearing a suit like this?”

“Barry, chill,” Cisco tried for the hundredth time.

“Barry Allen, if you fiddle with that jacket one more time…” Iris threatened in her no-nonsense sister tone, which was arguably more authoritative than her normal no-nonsense tone. It had love backing it which was definitely more dangerous than straight up conviction. 

Cisco had given up hope on corralling Barry’s nonstop ranting and fidgeting and occasional zipping around the trailer at Flash speed. After the tail of Barry’s long burgundy suit coat almost started smoking, Cisco had called in the big guns and pulled in Iris. 

“You look amazing, Barr,” Iris said with sincerity, looping her arms around him from behind and holding firm to his upper arms as she peeked around his body at the reflection. 

Barry could admit that he looked at home in shades of red. His suit coat was thigh length, longer than a normal tux, the vest simple beneath it with the jacket closed over top in matching shades of burgundy, with a dark red shirt and tie that made Barry look mostly monochrome, as if someone had turned his Flash suit into formalwear. 

Cisco’s suit matched Barry’s but in black, with a white shirt, and a blue vest and tie. Only Lisa and Iris knew what the entire wedding party was wearing, but apparently everyone complemented each other. Iris definitely looked beautiful with her hair in curls twisted to one side loosely over her shoulder, wearing a floor length red gown, with an empire waist and sweetheart neckline beneath a sheer covering that draped over the opposing shoulder from where her hair fell. 

It had been Lisa’s idea for the one-shoulder detail, in part to hide the scar on her collarbone, something Iris had embraced easily to find something they both loved that fit that requirement. Lisa’s dress, of course, was in blue. 

Barry’s hair was doing that messy floofy thing it always did without effort, which Cisco kept insisting had something to do with the Speed Force and not only high speed winds. 

Iris swatted at his hand when he reached up to run his fingers through his locks again. “Stop that. Breathe, Barry. Len is going to trip over his own feet when he sees you. Trust me.”

“Really? You think so?” Barry brightened. Then his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh god, what if I trip when I see him?!”

“Barry.” Iris hugged him from behind, mostly to keep him from vibrating or zipping around the room again. “If you trip, which you won’t, Len will just think you’re adorable, like he always does. We’ll laugh, have a good story to tell about the wedding, and the ceremony will go on anyway. Calm down.”

Holding Iris’s hands that were wrapped around his chest, Barry nodded at his reflection, took in a few deep breaths, and finally turned around to face them. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s normal to be this nervous, right? I know it’s just a piece of paper, and a bunch of people watching, but it feels so…I don’t think I can explain it. Like public speaking jitters only ten times worse.”

“Wow, that sounds awful,” Cisco said. Iris shot him a glare. “I mean…that sucks, Barry, but it is totally normal. Yeah…absolutely normal.” He stepped forward to take Iris’s place and gripped Barry by both shoulders. “It feels big and scary, sure, but the everyday things you love about Len—living together, working together, being all annoyingly adorable with your excessive PDAs—” Barry snickered, “—none of that is going to change. Plus we’ll have a bunch of really badass photos after this to plaster STAR Labs with, so suck it up, hombre. Accept that we would all give James Bond and every one of his Bond girls a run for their money right now, and make sure you eat an energy bar for the road.” He smacked Barry’s arm for good measure. 

Barry paled. 

“You packed some extras for the afternoon, right?” Cisco narrowed his eyes. 

“Yes? No? I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time I…ate.” Barry immediately swayed to stress that point, forcing Iris to jolt forward to help Cisco keep him upright. “That would explain the dizziness.”

“Barry!” Iris scolded. 

“I thought it was nerves!” Barry said as they helped ease him onto a chair. 

“Why did you not eat this morning?” Cisco asked. 

“I forgot! Oh god,” Barry groaned and dropped his head between his knees. “I’m going to throw up and pass out before my own wedding…”

“Whoa, Barry, relax,” Felicity’s voice rang out from the entrance, followed by the clang of the door as she walked casually toward them carrying a large tote bag that matched her dress, which was a shade darker than Iris’s, knee length, and without the sheer overlay since she wasn’t technically in the wedding party, but acting as Barry’s attendant. 

Without so much as batting an eye at Barry’s current state, she pulled an energy bar from the tote bag and handed it to him as he lifted his head and blinked at her. 

“I also have almonds, dried cherries, a banana, more energy bars, water…”

“Felicity, you are my hero,” Barry said, speeding through devouring the energy bar, and then taking the banana she offered after he perked back up from the calorie surge. 

Felicity shrugged and grinned as she handed him the water bottle next to wash it all down. “Just doing my job.” 

Eddie peeked his head in, dressed identically to Cisco but with his accents in red as Barry’s remaining groomsman. “T-minus ten minutes, team,” he smiled widely, casting his dozenth appreciative glance at Iris, before taking in Barry with a nod. “Ready, Barr?”

XXXXX

“I figured you could use a pick me up before things got rolling,” Shawna said as she continued to pour shots of Jameson for Len, Mick, Lisa, and Hartley, all primped and dressed and ready to walk. Hartley’s suit mirrored Mick’s but in blue like Lisa, while Shawna, as Len’s attendant, was in a darker shade of blue in the same style as Felicity’s. 

Normally, Len didn’t turn to liquid courage, but today he’d make an exception. He lifted his shot as his friends lifted theirs—all but Shawna. 

“None for the barkeep?” Len questioned. 

“That’s for after I’ve performed my duties,” Shawna said, tucking the bottle into her tote bag. “Bottoms up, Rogues! Time to get the rest of you over to your marks.”

“To my sappy big brother!” Lisa said, raising her shot. “For finding the one person who can stomach his puns, and even beg for more.” 

“Among begging for other things,” Hartley raised his glass with a wink.

“And who makes all our lives easier by keeping the boss laid!” Mick declared. 

They clinked, tapped their shots down on the table, and drank. That was an expensive bottle of whiskey Shawna had acquired, likely from Saints and Sinners for the occasion. She was definitely the right person for the job today. The burn of the liquor almost quelled Len’s nerves. Almost. 

Lisa pecked him on his cheek before heading for the door. Hartley paused a moment before doing the same, which made Len laugh. Mick snorted. 

“Yer not gettin’ any kisses from me, pal. Not this early in the night anyway.” He brought his hand down hard but companionably on Len’s shoulder. “Don’t fuck up,” he said, and headed out after Lisa and Hartley. 

Shawna hung back, to help Len all the way up until his entrance. She ran her thumb over his cheek, presumably to rid it of any lipstick from Lisa, then pulled a wide grin. “You look good enough to make anyone jealous of the Scarlet Speedster today, boss. Damn fine. Though my man don’t look so bad today either.”

Mark was an usher with Oliver, in simple black suits and ties, but with their respective boutonnieres to represent being on the groom or…other groom’s side. 

“Thanks,” Len said, debating for a moment if he should ask for one more shot, before thinking better of it. He could do this. He wanted this…more than anything he’d ever wanted in his whole life—and as a matter of pride, he always got what he wanted. 

“You’ll do fine,” Shawna said, patting his shoulder much more gently than Mick had. “And if it all goes to shit, I can bamf you right outta there and hightail it to Coast City.” She giggled. 

She could probably do that too, but Len knew now as he felt a calm inevitability settle in his gut that he didn’t want to run. He’d chased his speedster enough, and ended up right where he should be. 

XXXXX

Barry peered out of the trailer to watch the procession start, as a simple piano version of “You and Me” began to play. He was up front near where Martin stood, but off to the right, while Len’s trailer was on the left side. The rest of the wedding party would walk down the aisle through the guests, but Len and Barry had decided that since they weren’t a traditional bride and groom to warrant one of them waiting at the front while the other walked toward them, they should walk toward each other from either side and meet in the middle.

Martin was directly in front of Barry, but over the heads of his side of the crowd, he could see Hartley and Eddie starting to walk. Hartley had teased that he’d hook arms with the handsome detective, getting a blush out of Eddie when he actually did that during the rehearsal, but he behaved for the real occasion, the two of them, one red, one blue walking and then parting to either side once they reached the front.

Then Cisco and Mick, which still looked like the oddest pair, also with one in red and one blue, parted just the same at the end of the makeshift aisle, there in the clearing of the woods where Barry had first dropped his cowl for Len. The Best Men took spots closer to Martin than Eddie and Hartley, leaving Iris and Lisa to be last, where they would eventually stand closest to their respective brothers. 

And oh how beautiful they looked in their dresses, red and blue—always red and blue, Barry grinned to himself, like the mantra of his life with Len—carrying their flowers, Iris with roses, Lisa with hibiscus. Lisa’s hair was curled just like Iris’s, cascading over one shoulder. Even though Barry couldn’t see Cisco’s face, he imagined him doe-eyed and grinning as he took Lisa in, especially since Barry would swear he saw Lisa wink. 

“Barry…that’s you,” Felicity whispered from behind him. The music had shifted to the actual wedding march, something Barry had insisted on, as cheesy as it might be, because damn it, this was his wedding, and the music signaling for everyone to stand was for him and Len together. 

He took a breath, focused on Iris so he wouldn’t see Len exit his trailer and trip the second he stepped from his own, and started to walk. All the nerves that had built up in him seemed to drop down to his feet and get left behind in the footprints he made in the grass just from the simple act of moving forward. He kept his eyes on Iris for as long as he could, but at the first real flicker of blue, he had to shift his gaze, had to see Len, and…

“Wow…” Barry whispered, which caused Caitlin to giggle lightly from her place in the front row as part of Barry’s family.

Len looked breathtaking. He always did, always looked so sharp, so stunning in a suit, but this was different. This suit Len had chosen specifically with the help of Lisa and Iris just for today, same as Barry had chosen his. Len’s flawless style hadn’t wavered. The shades of blue brought out his eyes even from several dozen feet apart, walking toward each other, closer by the beat of the music, until finally they met in the middle, and all Barry could think about was grasping Len’s hands. 

Len smiled at him, a slanted expression, sweet but still a bit teasing, that combination of Len and Cold that only Barry ever saw. Barry was certain he had to be smiling like a dope back at him, but at least he hadn’t tripped. 

“Who here gives these men today,” Martin’s voice rang out, startling Barry somewhat as he’d nearly forgotten they were actually doing the ceremony right now. 

With Martin at Barry’s left, Henry and Joe stood up from the front row and stepped forward, both in simple black suits, while Lisa and Mick stepped out of line from the wedding party to mirror Barry’s fathers to stand in front of Len. 

“We do,” all four of them said. 

“And are you all willing to sustain and strengthen this marriage by giving Bartholomew and Leonard the public commitment of your love and support through all the ups and downs ahead of them?”

“We are.”

“You may be seated,” he nodded to Joe and Henry, who both smiled at Barry before they reclaimed their seats, while those in attendance sat as well, and Mick and Lisa stepped back into line. 

Barry’s hands flinched forward to touch Len, but not yet, he reminded himself, much as he would be happy just holding Len’s hands in his own and staring into his eyes for the next fifty years. They turned instead, standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, to face Martin. 

Martin too, wore a simple black suit, the hibiscus pinned to his lapel, as he smiled proudly at both of them and spoke openly to those gathered with them on this impossible day—impossible for so many reasons, but never with any doubt that Len was the one Barry wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

“Love is the reason we are here. In marriage we not only say, ‘I love you today’, but also, ‘I promise to love you for all of our tomorrows.’ I speak from experience when I tell you all that for a successful marriage, each morning should start with that in mind.” He smiled wider as he no doubt sought out his wife in the crowd. 

“Barry and Len, in the days ahead of you, there will be stormy times—”

A crack of thunder erupted overhead, like the signal of rain to come, which made Barry flinch, but which also should be impossible because—

“Real funny, Mardon!” Mick called back across the clearing, to which several snickers arose. 

Barry and Len both glanced behind the rows of chairs where Mark and Oliver stood, Mark shrugging not at all innocently, as he remained on duty to make sure they had a beautiful day. 

“…and good times!” Martin called louder to regain everyone’s attention. 

Barry chuckled and caught Len’s eye as they turned back, lingering on each other’s faces. Somehow, it felt like starting over again, like those first few days in STAR Labs when Len didn’t even remember his own name. All the nerves, and anxiety mixed with the fresh butterflies of possibility, flirting and getting to know each other and falling in love, even before they’d found the strength to discover who they really were to each other. 

“There will be times of conflict,” Martin continued, “and times of joy. I ask you to remember this advice: 

“Never go to bed angry.  
Let your love be stronger than your anger.  
Learn the wisdom of compromise, for it is better to bend than to break.  
Believe the best of your beloved rather than the worst.  
Confide in your partner and ask for help when you need it.  
Remember that true friendship is the basis for any lasting relationship.  
Give your spouse the same courtesies and kindnesses you bestow on your friends.  
Say ‘I love you’ every day.

“I think this reading that the couple asked me to speak for the occasion sums up the strength of their love for each other quite astonishingly. From Song of Songs. 

“’My lover belongs to me and I to him. He says to me: ‘Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm; For stern as death is love, relentless as the nether world is devotion; its flames are a blazing fire. Deep waters cannot quench love, nor floods sweep it away’.”

Barry felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. There was a promise in that reading fiercer than anything he could put into words himself, which was why Len had so readily agreed to have it spoken, but there were still Barry’s own words to speak, because now it was time for the vows. He was so happy Len went first.

“Barry and Len, I remind you that marriage is a precious gift, a lifelong commitment, and a challenge to love one another more completely each and every day. Please face one another and join hands. The grooms each have something they would like to say before the traditional vows.”

Barry’s stomach jumped up into his throat, reminding him of his analogy about this being like public speaking, because now it was public speaking, in front of everyone they knew. He tried to focus on just Len, standing in front of him, finally, finally able to hold hands as Len’s cool, long, expressive fingers coiled with his. 

His eyes were so blue, but also damp, Barry realized as he looked in them, lost himself in them, and took note of the shuddery breath that escaped Len before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“I doubt any of our fellows in attendance today would deny that I enjoy a good speech,” he said with a crooked smirk, followed by a wave of chittering laughter from the crowd, which only made Len smile wider, and Barry grin more fondly back at him. “I also doubt we could catalog the many speeches I’ve delivered to you since we met. Both bombastic…and remorseful. And even, occasionally, sappy, as my sister would say.” Another pause for laughter, before Len’s expression fell more serious. 

“You met a different man in the beginning. Maybe you saw some good in me then, but I didn’t give you much to work with. You met a broken man later, and somehow wanted him anyway. When I tried to suppress that part of me, tried to hide in the familiar, you fought until I pushed you away. Even when I didn’t deserve it, you believed in me, let me earn my way back in, still wanted me when I was more broken the second time around. You accepted every crack. Every part of my two halves. But you didn’t try to fix me. You continued to believe that I was never broken in the first place. Made me start to believe it too. So I might be sappy, on occasion, but no words could ever say it enough. 

“I love you, Barry. We can’t know what awaits us after this moment, after today, or this year. It’s terrifying and miraculous. Just like you. So if you truly believe you can make a home with an old thief like me, as long as we face the unknown together, I will be there every step of the way to trip you up or pick you up, whichever you need in the moment, and I will honor every day I get to share your name.”

Barry squeezed Len’s hands tighter. Shit, that was good. Of course Len’s vows were good. He always had a way with words, with his speeches. 

“Leonard,” Martin took over, “with this understanding, do you take Bartholomew to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others and to be faithful only to him, so long as you both shall live?”

Len stared straight ahead at Barry. “I do.”

Oh god, it was Barry’s turn. He searched his brain for what he’d planned to say; he knew he should have kept cue cards in his jacket pocket. 

“I…umm…” He laughed helplessly, and felt Len’s thumbs brush his fingers. He melted into the comforting contact, and told himself that it didn’t matter who else was listening, only that Len was here, Len wanted to be here, wanted him more than anybody else. “I’m…less good at speeches. Though Cisco and several others of our friends would probably argue I try a lot anyway.” 

A fresh rustle of laughter sounded, and Barry felt a gentle nudge at his back that he knew was Iris’s supportive presence. 

“I’m not good on my own. I’ve never been good on my own. I’ve been blessed that even at my lowest, when I lost the two most important people in my life, one I didn’t get back until recently, somehow good people found their way into my life anyway. And that meant having two dads, and a best friend who put up with me even when I’m pretty sure very few people wanted to be around the skinny conspiracy nerd.

“It wasn’t finding my calling to help people that taught me who I am. It was those people. My dad, my other dad,” he laughed, and heard Joe’s distinctive chuckle, “my best friend and sometimes sister, and the most amazing friends I could ever imagine having in more recent years. It was seeing the best of me reflected back in them that showed me who I could be, who I wanted to be. And the most I’ve ever felt that way is when I’m with you. You make me want to be a better me. And there is significant evidence to suggest that I might just make you feel the same way.”

Finally, Len chuckled, a surprised escape of air as he sucked in a breath and his eyes shimmered, raw earnestness in his expression with no guile or holding back.

“I love you, Len. So if you can put up with my spastic rambling, which on a good day I fully accept can be more than a little annoying, then I can’t imagine any future brighter than one where we share it together.” 

“Bartholomew,” Martin said, repeating the vows to Barry, as they gripped each other’s hands tighter. Barry’s eyes felt so hot looking at Len, who was also close to tears, that he knew he’d be crying in moments; he couldn’t handle Len looking at him like that. “…to be faithful only to him, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Mr. Rory, Mr. Ramon, if we may have the rings please.”

It took a moment before Barry found the nerve to actually unlink their hands, but he felt Iris’s gentle nudge again, and sniffed back the moisture in his eyes. He turned, to find Iris with the widest grin and adoration on her face, as Cisco reached around her holding out the ring he had been keeping safe in his pocket. Cisco and Eddie looked on just as adoringly as Iris, blinding wide smiles supporting Barry. He took the ring and turned back, waiting for his cue. 

“The ring, an unbroken, never-ending circle, is a symbol of committed, unending love,” Martin said. “Leonard, as you place this ring on Bartholomew 's finger, repeat these words after me,” which Len then echoed as Martin spoke, “This ring, a gift for you, symbolizes my desire that you be my husband from this day forward. As this ring has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

The lightning bolt cutout in gold slid onto Barry’s left ring finger as he held onto Len’s ring in his right hand. He’d had Len put it on him that first day when it was finished, and Barry got his chance to wear around his engagement ring just as Len had for weeks prior. Barry had gotten a little choked up then, even though he’d been the one doing the ring-giving the first time around. This…this was so different. 

“Bartholomew, as you place this ring on Leonard's finger, repeat these words after me.” Martin spoke the same words again, and after each phrase, Barry echoed him, as he took Len’s hand and fit on the ring that he had first slipped on his finger all those nights ago when he proposed on a rooftop after a heist in Central City.

When they both had their rings, they held each other’s hands again, and continued to look into each other’s eyes. Barry felt a tear slip free finally and chuckled beneath his breath at his inability to keep his composure. But then he took note of how Len was no different, and his wet eyes, filled with emotion, looked bluer than ever. 

“Barry and Len, in your journey of life, remind yourselves often of the love that brought you together. When challenges come, remember to focus on what is right between you. In this way, you can ride out any…storms,” Martin put stress on the word this time, and raised an expectant eyebrow in challenge back toward Mark, but no thunder came this time. “And,” he smiled in satisfaction, “when clouds hide the sun in your lives, remember, even if you lose sight of it for a moment, the sun is always there. 

“You have consented together in holy matrimony, pledged your vows to each other, and have exchanged rings as tokens of your love and commitment. In accordance with the laws of the state of Missouri, and with great joy as your friend and compatriot, I now pronounce you husband and…husband!” Martin grinned and held out his hands, before leaning conspiratorially closer. “You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

Barry and Len both reached for each other at the same time, the same way, grasping for each other’s necks and pulling in desperately. Barry wanted nothing more than to feel Len’s thumb along his cheekbone, his lips pressed to his own, the gentle but insistent slide of his tongue as they met mouths. 

Barry felt Len’s other hand reach for his lower back and cling, and he couldn’t control himself after that; he grasped Len more fully and dipped him back as he kissed deeper in return. Several hoots and hollers sounded, but Lisa’s was definitely the loudest. 

“I present to you for the first time…Mr. Bartholomew and Leonard Allen!” Martin called out loudly to those gathered, and began a round of applause that filled the entire clearing. 

A fresh crack of thunder rolled overheard, and Barry pulled away from Len laughing, only to look up and see lightning above, and then the gentle falling of snow. As soon as it started to come down, like a personalized shower of rice, or birdseed, or bubbles, but so much better, the sun shined again, and Barry watched a snowflake land and quickly melt on Len’s nose. Mark could be pretty thoughtful sometimes. 

Barry felt Iris and then Cisco pat his shoulder, but before Eddie could reach forward to do the same, he suddenly found himself seized by a large hand and pulled into Mick’s chest, where his burly friend smacked his back heartily as he hugged him. 

“Good job, Flash,” Mick said in a gruff whisper. 

The rest of the ending ceremony went by in a blur as they were ushered down the aisle, hand in hand, to walk past their guests, and then waited at the end to greet everyone one by one as they processed out. Sharing hugs, and more laughs, and showing off their rings and suits. It was a beautiful whirlwind, a wonderful din, and when it was over, as the crowd headed off to make their way to STAR Labs for the reception, Barry, Len, and the wedding party stayed behind for pictures. 

Barry’s favorite, he’d find out weeks later when he got the photos back, was one he didn’t even know was being taken, a close up of him and Len pulled in tight, facing each other. Len’s eyes flicked down Barry’s body, as Barry clutched Len’s tie while he laughed and looked into Len’s eyes. It was somehow them to a T, just candid love between them, unburdened by anything, at least for one day. 

XXXXX

“Mr. Bartholomew and Leonard Allen!” Martin announced again when they arrived at the warehouse in STAR Labs, where they’d setup everything for the reception so impressively that if someone had been entered blindfolded, they never would have guessed where they were. 

The vast room looked like a ballroom now, draped in navy and burgundy fabric, with soft lighting, and catering setup to one side ready for the meal, a DJ station in the back where Hartley could run the technical side of things—with occasional fussing from Cisco—and a large area in the center cleared for dancing. 

Len never imagined, in his entire life, that he’d experience something so…normal as a rowdy wedding reception, accompanied by the man he loved. 

At the entrance, Caitlin, as hostess, was making sure everyone signed the guestbook, and directing people to place their gifts—which Len had tried to insist they didn’t need, but then he’d had some insistence right back that if they didn’t need essentials, fun non-essentials were still called for—as well as keeping an eye on how much everyone was drinking, and basically running the entire affair like a clockwork general. Caitlin even occasionally sent her husband, ever close at her side, to handle an errand or two. Len and Barry couldn’t have chosen a better person for the task.

“Oh my god, I am starving,” Barry said as they traipsed their way, hand in hand still—Len could hardly remember a time they hadn’t been touching since the ceremony ended—toward the wedding party table, where he and Barry sat in the center with the others around them in the same order as they’d stood during the wedding. 

“That’s why the grooms eat first, Barry,” Len said. Only they didn’t quite make it to the buffet table before someone—it was Felicity, definitely Felicity—started in on the traditional clinking of glasses, that got everyone else doing the same. Len and Barry had no choice but to kiss. 

Len owed Barry a dip after his semi-dip during the wedding. Stopped where they’d risen from their seats to head to the buffet table, he grabbed Barry firmly, dipped him back low, for all his slender limbs and extra height, and kissed him thoroughly to cheers and applause. Barry giggled when Len let him back up again. 

They ate. They chatted. They were accosted by more clinking glasses several times during the meal, but once all of the guests had their food, several digging in immediately, and Barry already on his third plate, Champaign was added beside the glasses of wine for the toasts. 

Joe and Henry started things off, after Caitlin got everyone’s attention and handed off the mic to the glowing fathers. They’d agreed not tell any embarrassing stories about Barry, and kept their joint speech short and sweet with the toast that all either of them would ever ask for was that Barry be happy, and Len was clearly the man for the job. 

Henry’s eyes were sincere, but it surprised Len just how sincere Joe also looked as he raised his glass to toast them. 

When Joe held the mic up for the Best Man/Maid of Honor speeches, Mick rose swiftly to snatch it from him first. _Shit._

“I didn’t make any promises ‘bout no embarrassing stories.”

“Mick…” 

“Cool your shorts, buddy.” Mick looked down at Len with Lisa seated between them, but then he gestured to her and looked over at Iris and Cisco, and the other three stood as well. “Figured we didn’t wanna bore the crowd by each sayin’ somethin’ long-winded, so we’re gonna share the spotlight so everyone can get back to drinkin’ and cake. West there gets the credit on this one—when was the moment I knew these two idiots were total lost causes on each other? Well that’s just easy.”

He’d already loosened his tie and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He looked more like Mick now, a little rough and wild, not usually in his element in front of a crowd unless causing destruction, but he held them all captive in a way that was nothing like his old tricks. 

“If I’d a walked in the door any earlier, I’d have caught them goin’ at it likes rabbits—”

“ _Mick_.” This time it was Lisa, who nudged him non-too gently. 

“Lucky me, they both had their clothes on,” he continued undeterred, over the pittering of laughter. “Made it real clear to Len that night that if he ever screwed around on the kid or hurt him, he’d have more to worry about than just West’s right hook, or the other West’s gun. My pal didn’t even flinch. He was all in long before that, and so was Red. 

“You keep him straight, Barry,” Mick said, raising his glass and fixing Barry with a grin and a wink, “and maybe he’ll steer you a little crooked.”

More laughter flitted through, interrupted only by the clink of glasses and the brief silence as everyone drank. Len took a moment to sip from his glass, since he honestly couldn’t remember a time before when Mick had ever called Barry by his first name.

Then Mick passed the mic to Lisa. 

“I knew Lenny was in love with Barry before they’d even started liking each other,” she said. Immediate laughter again— _cute_. “Trust me, that’s the order it went in. But I didn’t realize it could be a good thing until Barry helped us save Lenny’s life. Barry didn’t even have to play hero, just had to promise he’d try, and I saw what he really wanted, even if he didn’t think he’d get it. Selfless hasn’t often been part of Lenny’s MO, certainly isn’t usually part of mine, but Barry’s got that trait in spades, and he’s been rubbing off on Lenny for a long time now—in more ways than I like to imagine.”

Len shook his head at her, and fought down his smile as everyone laughed again—including Barry. 

Lisa raised her glass. “You may be sappy, big brother, but you found the one man who thinks it’s adorable, so you better hang on as tight as you can. You two deserve each other.”

Another drink. Len considered grabbing the mic to end this as Lisa reached behind Len and Barry to pass the mic to Iris, but then, Len’s side was done—how bad could the other two be?

“As Barry’s best—” Iris was immediately interrupted by Cisco clearing his throat, “—oldest friend,” she corrected with an appeasing side-eye, “I reserved judgment on Len after I first heard the story of how they got together. I’d never really approved of anyone Barry dated, which he used to tease me was because I didn’t think anyone was good enough for my adopted brother. And that’s just it. No one ever was,” she smiled fondly at Barry. “But then I caught sight of Leonard Snart wearing workout clothes in Jitters as he picked up a full tray of coffee for the team at STAR Labs, just to be nice and neighborly, and I realized how much he wanted to be more than what so many people said about him—myself included. I never had a single doubt from that moment on. And the fact that later that same day, he was suddenly wearing Barry’s clothes proved I didn’t get a say anyway.” 

_Damn it._

Lisa laughed so hard, she smacked Len on the shoulder as Iris waited for the crowd to still again. Dangerous, these women, especially in close proximity. 

“To the one who finally earned my approval,” Iris raised her glass, “even if it took Dad a little longer.”

Yet another pull from their drinks. Shawna zipped around at Caitlin’s insistence to fill up the glasses that had run dry from so many speeches. Even Len could admit that his mind was mildly clouded with the beginnings of being buzzed. 

“We planned it this way, so I’d be tipsier by the time it was my turn,” Cisco said, which made everyone chuckle again. “As Barry’s best man,” he said with a finger pointed at Iris, as if daring her to contradict him, “I knew the truth about these two before anybody else. I knew before they did. Because the moment I knew they were goners, was the same moment I realized I was doomed to actually like Captain Cold as my friend. And it should not have been so easy,” he shifted his still outstretched finger to point at Len, “but the guy is pretty charming sometimes.” Another laugh. 

“It was the most sugar-coated, rom-com moment, I’m almost embarrassed for you guys, and all it was, was a look. Barry leaving a room and glancing over his shoulder at the last second, with Len looking over at him at the same time, and—that was it, I knew they were doomed. And as much as I have, in the past, seriously wanted to punch that man in the face,” he somehow pointed even more forcefully at Len, but then his arm finally dropped, and he looked at Len and Barry with his usual wide smile, “I love you guys. And we are all extremely lucky to get to bask in just how cheesy you are together on a regular basis.”

He thrust his glass into the air, and this time Iris, Lisa, and Mick all raised theirs too, and the four of them said in unison, “To Len and Barry!”

“To Len and Barry,” everyone chorused.

Len downed the last of his Champaign. Barry had gotten out of his seat to hug Iris, and then yanked Cisco in to join the glomp, which eventually included Eddie too. 

Len felt Lisa’s arms wrap around his shoulders as he stared at the show of affection from Barry to his friends. He knew he couldn’t avoid the same, so he let Lisa haul him out of his seat and hugged her properly. Then Mick. Then grabbed Hartley by the collar of his shirt and let the kid kiss his cheek again. There was a reason these were the people they’d asked to stand with them on their wedding day. 

Len almost wanted to complain that Eddie and Hartley had been left out, even though they were technically outranked by the others being Best Men and Maids of Honor, but then Hartley whispered as if he knew what Len was thinking, “Eddie and I got you covered later.” 

Interesting…

“Cake!” Barry cheered as he spun around before Len could even consider attempting to thank Barry’s side of the wedding party. The speedster had Len’s hand the next moment, and getting from the raised platform of their table to the small table where the cake waited to be cut, may or may not have included the Speed Force. 

Len snickered again at the sight of their wedding cake toppers. He should have known from the start when Iris and Lisa said they’d already chosen something. 

It was their action figures. 

They cut into the cake to rounds of pictures, and an exchange of bite sized pieces that they fed to each other—no threat of cake being smashed into their faces, Len had made Barry promise; he did not think that tradition was necessary or cute. Then it was time for the first dance. 

Barry had insisted on the song, even though it wasn’t really fitting for a first dance at a wedding. Len had hoped they could skip the public slow dance portion of the evening entirely. Maybe, if he got drunk enough, he’d consider other forms of dancing amidst the throng of their friends, but this display made him tense. 

Barry’s loving gaze helped banish that, however, the moment the kid grasped his hand again and dragged him out onto the dance floor, only to pull him close and just…look at him. That must have been the look Cisco had mentioned in his speech. Doom indeed.

What also helped ease Len’s tension over the whole thing was that when the song started, it wasn’t the recorded version—but Hartley and Eddie singing. 

_Wish I could explain what you have made_  
_Thoughts cannot help_  
_When I cannot trust myself_

_That dream of the gun_  
_Caught, I can't run_  
_Allow me to stand_  
_Until you take my hand_

It was a faster paced song, not exactly meant to be two-stepped to, so they started off fast, just twirling around, enjoying themselves, but eventually, basking in the glow of each other and remembering how that song had first brought them together, they held each other close and swayed. 

_You got away, you got away with me_

The first dance after the first dance was with their sisters—their new sisters. Len with Iris, Barry with Lisa. Before they passed the ladies off to their significant others, and were soon passed around the dance floor themselves. Even Mick was on the floor eventually, with some insistence from the Lance sisters. 

It was as Len was attempting to escape the dance floor finally that Captain Singh and his husband stopped him. Singh had known Barry was The Flash a lot longer than he ever let on. When Len had questioned Barry’s decision to invite the man, Barry had said he’d make sure Singh promised no police business while surrounded by so many criminals for the night. Len was an upright vigilante who worked with the police most nights now, after all.

“Captain,” Len said, then nodded greetings to the man’s husband Rob. 

“Captain,” Singh nodded right back. He had one of those unreadable faces, the kind that always looked neutral or borderline pissed off. But he held out a hand for Len to shake. This was the first time they’d actually met face to face. 

Len accepted the gesture, shook firmly, but wasn’t all that surprised that words of warning accompanied the act. 

“Keep cleaning up this city instead of stealing from it, Snart, we won’t have a problem.”

Len smirked. “It’s Allen now, actually.”

Miracle of miracles—Singh smiled back at him. “That it is.”

“Congratulations,” Rob added. 

“Thank you.”

The dance floor was cleared before long for another silly tradition that Len had initially been against, but Barry had had a delicious idea to make it their own, and Len hadn’t been able to refuse him. 

“Okay!” Barry called out, sans his jacket now, as he held up both Iris and Lisa’s flowers that had been tied together for a combined bouquet. “Since this is a non-traditional wedding in…several ways, I’m throwing the bouquet for the men, and Len has something else for the ladies. But if anyone wants to swap groups, that’s totally your call.”

A few women decided they’d prefer to go for the bouquet toss and mixed in with the men as the group gathered behind Barry. He prepared a leisure throw, but Len had a sneaky suspicion as he watched his…husband—wow, _husband_ —that Barry aimed purposely for Eddie, who caught the flowers only too easily, and grinned like the hopeless romantic he was. 

Hartley pouted in disappointment, but called out, “So what’s the other groom tossing?”

Len really didn’t know how he let Barry talk him into these things. “My sister gave us the idea,” he said as he pulled a chair out onto the dance floor and sat down in it. 

“But as comfortable as I’m sure it is,” Barry said with a grin, and crouched down in front of Len rather suggestively, “I think it’s time for the garter to come _off_.”

There was a flurry of movement as people laughed, and hooted, and some groaned, before every woman they knew scrambled to take up the place the men had vacated when waiting for the bouquet. Hartley, however, stood agape, and didn’t budge. 

“You already tried for the bouquet, Rathaway,” Thea scolded him. 

“I didn’t know they were planning this!”

“He can stay,” Len called out, and while some of the women, most notably Felicity, seemed put out at the added competition, Hartley glowed at him and vied for the best spot in the front. “Now don’t go thinking there’s going to be any showmanship with this. More like a Band-Aid—quick and painless. My legs—”

“While gorgeous,” Barry said unabashedly. Len had to wonder if he’d been snuck a little of that Flash-proof liquor again. 

“—are not for public viewing. So get it over with, kid.” Len tuned out the crowd, and focused on the glowing hazel eyes before him. 

Barry slid his hands up beneath Len’s left pant leg, lifting it up slowing to get at what he sought, while boxing in the view from most of the onlookers, something that garnered a few protests, though Lisa seemed fine with it, since she stood off to the side, having opted out of catching anything that had been intimately worn by her brother. 

When Barry reached the garter, his fingers teased around the full circumference of Len’s thigh, too high up to be decent, making Len shiver and shake his head at the naughty, naughty boy.

Then the moment ended in a flash as Barry zipped the garter down, replacing the pant leg, and held up the prize. Cheers. More laughter. Barry eventually handed the garter to Len to throw. And just to be sportsmanlike, Len tried to aim for Hartley, but Felicity was a force to be reckoned with, and what nearly landed in Hartley’s hand got equally snatched by his sometimes counterpart from Team Arrow. 

“Come on, Smoak, it’s mine!”

“I don’t see your name on it!”

“What does that even mean!?”

Len wasn’t sure how that one ended, but they might have agreed to a timeshare eventually. 

Len felt buzzed and blissful even with his few drink barely affecting him. There was too much adrenaline in his system for anything to stick—even an extra glass of wine and several shots Mick had insisted on. Barry was much the same, high on life and the moment, more than tipsy, even if Len swore he saw him sneak a few sips from a hidden flask. 

But nothing could have quite prepared Len for how the night wound down. He was tired, and the party was showing no signs of stopping, but he just wanted to slip away with his new husband and enjoy the hotel room they’d gotten for the evening across town. They were saying quiet goodbyes and trying to sneak away without anyone—such as an extremely drunk Iris and Eddie—yanking them back onto the dance floor. 

Henry stopped them first. He hugged his son then pulled Len in for a hug too. That one was expected. It wasn’t the first time Len had received a hug from the Allen patriarch. He considered the man a good friend, for all the insanity that surrounded their lives. Len understood some of what Henry had gone through, knowing the ins and outs of prison life, better than Barry ever could. 

But Joe was there too, and what took Len by surprise was how, after hugging Barry, the expected handshake or pat on the shoulder for him didn’t come, not this time. Joe hugged Len just as tightly as Henry had. Len was floored. 

“You make him happy, Snart. _Len_. That’s all that matters,” Joe whispered, though his voice rose at the end to make sure that Henry heard the rest. “Just goes to show, when that kid believes in something, or someone, you just gotta shut up and listen.” 

Both fathers beamed at the happy couple as they headed for the door, and with Barry’s eyes looking glassy with an overabundance of joy, Len soon felt tears on his own cheeks too. Because he didn’t just have a husband. A partner. Friends. Besides his sister, who would always mean the world to him, Len had a whole new family now too. 

XXXXX

“Wow,” Barry said the moment they crossed the threshold into the hotel room. He’d initially started to insist that he carry Len inside, but thankfully, Len had convinced him that such a display was meant for their home, not the suite they were spending their wedding night in. 

The room wasn’t anything too lavish. The important thing was the view of the city—Len’s city. Barry’s city. Otherwise, a king sized bed spanned the middle of the room, looking toward the large windows, and the expansive bathroom included a Jacuzzi tub which Len wasn’t too thrilled about—he didn’t like extreme heat in any situation—but that thrilled Barry. 

The room hadn’t been too heavily vandalized by their friends. An extra flask of Flash-proof liquor, some of Len’s favorite whiskey, a bottle of wine, and several snacks were spread out on the table by the far wall. No shy amount of lube was set on the nightstand by the bed, of various brands. Condoms littered the bed, more for show than any needed use, and the bathroom mirror had been written on in lipstick—Lisa’s shade.

_Don’t run too hot or too cold. Together you can steam up this mirror all night._

Len was busy grinning at the message when he felt Barry slither up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist. They both had their jackets on, which had been off at various times during the party, but much more would be coming off soon enough. Len could see Barry’s reflection, a little distorted by the lipstick message. Their eyes met in the glass. 

“How was your day, Mr. Allen?” Barry asked.

Len chuckled through the heat in his eyes. Normally he’d chide himself for being so emotional all day, but more than one of their friends had told him that today was the one day he could be as sappy and blubbering as he wanted. So he turned in Barry’s arms, reached for that handsome, grinning face, and said, “Perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.” And kissed him. 

They took their time from there, tired as Len was, though Barry seemed to rejuvenate with extra energy. Barry dropped to his knees right there still wearing his suit. Len pulled him off before long, pretty as those lips looked right where they were, and dragged Barry to bed. Their custom suits came off piece by piece. Len ran his hands up and down Barry’s body like he was mapping it all for the first time. Memorizing it anew as his husband—his husband. 

Barry was taken apart by his hands so beautifully. Opened up for him _so beautifully_. When Len finally slid inside the younger man, they both shuddered, and reached for each other with the sudden desperate need to meet mouths as well as bodies. With the tension of the day gone and over with finally, a hard and fast rhythm came naturally, but Barry wrapped his legs around Len’s waist, held him still, and touched a hand to his cheek.

“Slower,” he said, in such a low whisper, Len shivered again and nearly came right that moment. “I want to really feel you tonight. Every inch of you inside me.” He grinned impishly. “Torture me a little.”

Fuck, when Barry talked like that, Len had no control at all. He slowed his pace, dragged his cock along the contours of Barry’s inner walls to ensure the speedster felt every nerve heightened with the slow push in and rock back. It was torture for Len too, but when Barry gasped, folded up as he was on his back, the deliberate pace was worth it.

Through it all, Barry hands trailed over Len’s body, down his chest, his arms, across the buzz of his hair, and would every so often pull Len down to kiss him, the languid twirl of their tongues just as slow as the connection of their bodies. Only when it had gone on so long that Len’s arms shook, did Barry ask for more.

“Harder, Len, please…but don’t…don’t speed up yet.”

“I’m fit to burst soon, Scarlet…”

“Me too…me too. Just a little longer.”

Len thrust in so deep, he fell into Barry and held him about the waist, pulling up so that they rocked nearly sitting to give Len’s arms a break. It was Barry who started to move faster—no surprise there—legs and arms twined around Len like he would never, ever let him go. 

The first moment Barry shivered with vibrations, having held back all this time, Len came without warning and stifled back a cry. He rocked harder, _harder_ into Barry to make sure the speedster followed soon after. The noises the kid made never failed to inspire Len’s salacious side. 

They didn’t disconnect right away. Barry coiled his limbs tighter, keeping Len inside him as he said, “I love you, Mr. Allen.”

Len understood the game—there were always such wonderful games between them—and smiled as he brushed the sweat-soaked hair from Barry’s forward and repeated the phrase, “I love you, Mr. Allen.”

They shared a drink or two. Snacked—mostly Barry snacked. Enjoyed the hot tub—mostly Barry enjoyed it, while Len had to get out and sit with only his feet in the water to cool the rest of him off several times—and eventually they fell into bed. They were too overtired to sleep, so when Barry spooned in behind Len and started trailing his hand down the curve of Len’s ass, Len couldn’t say no to round two. 

They slept in until noon then had sex again before leaving the hotel to grab lunch. 

XXXXX

Barry and Len’s honeymoon wasn’t going to be so much a honeymoon as a sort of staycation, as Barry dubbed it. They couldn’t duck out to Europe or someplace exotic when the city might need them at any moment. At least that’s how Barry had felt when they made the decision to stay home, take time off from work, sure, but still be on call as The Flash and Captain Cold. 

Only that very night the day after their wedding, being called on by Cisco to deal with a heist in progress made Barry groan because, really, didn’t the criminal element of the city understand that The Flash was supposed to be spending the next two weeks in bed?

“Want me to join you?” Len had asked.

“No, no, enjoy your time off. Hopefully, I won’t be too long. Promise.” Barry kissed Len goodbye, flashed into his suit, and was off. 

Cisco gave Barry the address of the very museum where Len had first committed that diamond heist, back around when they first met, and the nostalgia of that resonated enough with Barry not to ruin his evening too much. He’d been looking forward to watching _Princess Bride_ though. Len could give Cisco a run for his money quoting that movie verbatim. 

But when Barry arrived at the museum, nothing appeared to be happening. 

“Cisco, you sure the alarms were tripped?”

“That’s what my readings say. Better get inside and check it out.”

So Barry did, but still, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Until Barry came upon the spot where that diamond had once been displayed. It wasn’t there anymore, of course, but something else stood in its place. Barry didn’t really pay attention to what lay beneath the glass though; he was too distracted by the icy blue post-it note stuck to it. 

_Catch me if you can, Scarlet. I’m a gambling man at heart, and you made me cash in all my chips._

A riddle. A scavenger hunt, Barry realized. Only one person ever called him Scarlet. He grinned as he held the note, and called back over the comms. 

“Are you in on this, Cisco?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Barry. But uhh, try to be discreet. Got some uniforms on standby in case anyone freaks out about seeing the Flash zipping around town for no reason, but otherwise the coast should be clear. Comms off from here on out, man. Have fun.”

Barry bounced on the balls of his feet. Gambling… The next clue had to be at the casino where Barry had stopped Len and Lisa!

He took off, not slowing down for a moment, until he got close to the casino and remembered how busy the place would be this time of night. Where exactly would a note be…? 

Chips! Where people go to cash in their chips! So Barry took a breath, readied himself, and zipped in fast enough to bypass any onlookers, caught sight of the next note right where he’d expected it, and snatched it from the wall before anyone noticed he had even been there. 

He stopped in the alley behind the casino to read the clue. 

_Heaven and Hell couldn’t keep us apart, but it sure helped bring us together._

Saints and Sinners—too easy! Off Barry went again. He nearly collided with Mick behind the bar when he checked there first, but managed to maintain his speed as he pivoted back around to the pool table where they’d had that chat about making a deal so long ago. He should have guessed right away that Len would be more sentimental about that. Once he had the next note, he ducked into the alley behind Saints. 

_All the money in the world couldn’t equal your worth, but I cracked the vault to your heart like an old pro._

Robbing banks was one of Len’s specialties, but back when Len had been up to his ‘old’ tricks, 1st National Bank was the one he’d been about to rob when Barry swooped in to stop him. There was also the other 1st National, but Barry had his money pegged on the first one. At least the bank would be closed. It was still mighty sneaky to coerce The Flash into breaking and entering, but Barry knew he wouldn’t find the next note outside. Had to be on the vault door. 

He wasn’t wrong, and he had to be as fast as ever to avoid getting caught by the cameras. How Len had managed to…no, best Barry didn’t wonder about that. 

_When I fell, I fell hard, but breaking the ice tends to be my specialty._

Finally, at this one, Barry paused. What did Len mean? STAR Labs? Len had fallen in love with Barry there, and he’d also iced the place. But there had to be more of a double meaning than just that. Len was too clever. The play on words was about Len falling in love, sure, but when had he fallen physically and broken…

The warehouse. Barry hadn’t been back, not since the day he flashed Len there in a fit of anger—where Len had iced the walkway above them and ultimately changed their lives forever. 

Len saved Barry that day, and got hit on the head himself. The ice had indeed broken something, Len had indeed fallen, and everything had changed. There might have been something sour and sad about it all, remembering this place now that they were married, but as Barry held the last note, and recalled in his mind how to get to the warehouse, he felt nothing but a surge of love for his sentimental, sappy husband. 

He rushed there and arrived with a whoosh, spinning around to find the next note, only no matter how much he checked the place over, he couldn’t find a thing. Had he guessed wrong? Barry spotted the broken walkway. This place was too out of the way to have been fixed up. Condemned, left to rot, so the iced walkway, while no longer frozen, stood in bent pieces right where Barry had thrown it after he tossed it off of him and Len. 

Barry walked toward it slowly and couldn’t help the fond smile that touched his face. 

“Gotcha now, Flash.”

Barry whirled around, but was instantly met with a wave of cold.

When he awoke sometime later, he jerked up in his seat—a seat on a private plane, already miles over the water as Barry’s eyes focused on the window. 

“Morning, handsome. Ready for our honeymoon?”

Barry gaped at the endless expanse of water below them before mustering the strength to face Len. Len…who looked way too good in one of his three-piece suits with a cocktail in hand and a smug grin. Barry was dressed nicely too, not in his Flash suit. The plane had to be Oliver’s, or maybe Ray’s—someone’s. 

“Did you seriously ice me?”

“I was careful.”

“And _kidnap_ me?”

“You were being far too self-sacrificing about having some time off. We deserve it. The city will understand. Everyone we know is aware of this little jaunt, and will be watching over the city in our absence.” 

Barry gaped again, flabbergasted as he watched Len sip his drink. “I should be mad.”

“You’re not though.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Can’t get over that part, huh? Let’s say, seeing as how we’re married now, I’ll limit such activities to once a year. For our anniversary. I promise I’ll always keep it interesting.”

Barry was not smiling; he was annoyed, damn it! “You are the worst.”

Len shrugged. “Part of why you love me.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Several places. We’ll be gone two weeks, as planned, and are on call only if the world is about to end. Our time away will include some foreign cities you need to see, maybe a beach or two, but don’t think you’re getting me into swim trunks in public, and otherwise we will maintain our original plan to spend most of the next fourteen days in bed. In the meantime, while we finish our flight...” He gestured behind Barry. 

Barry found that his seat did in fact swivel, so he swiveled around and saw a large TV dropped down from the roof of the plane, with the DVD waiting screen for _The Princess Bride_ already displayed and waiting. 

Barry couldn’t be annoyed now. He tried to feign it anyway, as he got up from his seat and moved into one closer to Len—close enough that he was able to lean over and kiss his husband, then take Len’s hand. “There better be popcorn.”

“There’s popcorn.”

“And soda.”

“And soda.”

“And…mile high club?” Barry raised an eyebrow. 

Len chuckled. “We’ll see.”

When a flight attendant came back to deliver their treats, Barry beamed even brighter at how she turned to Len and asked, “Will there be anything else, Mr. Allen?”

Barry didn’t even listen to how Len replied. Hearing anyone call Len ‘Mr. Allen’ was enough to have Barry smiling the whole rest of the trip. 

THE END (really, I swear...um, maybe? No I swear this time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that's right, I stole my own "Slower" idea. I figured alot of you probably aren't reading Lovesick, so why not spread some of the fluffier love. I also thought that those of you who are reading Lovesick deserved this fluff fest the most. :-) Thank you, truly, all of you, for this amazing ride.


End file.
